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NEW BOOKS. 


ENGLISH GRAMMARS, 

By THOS. W. HARVEY, A.M. 

Harvey’s Elementary Grammar. In this work great care 
has been taken never to define a term, or to enunciate a principle, 
without first preparing the mind of the pupil to grasp and comprehend 
their meaning and use. Notes, remarks, and suggestions have been 


but sparingly int" 


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and definitions; 
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PRI 


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PRESENTED BY | f 

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Schuyler’s 
Schools, and gen 



?f Colleges, High 
lear, concise, and 


systematic development of the principles of the science. The neces- 
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ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES. 


RAY’S MATHEMATICS. 


Ray’s Series of Arithmetics , embracing a progressive and 
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Ray’s Series of Algebras , Elementary and Higher , for Com- 
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8vo., 336 pages. 

Ray’s Differential and Integral Calculus , in preparation. 












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SCHOOL STAGE 


& (tfollcctton of 


JUVENILE ACTING PLAYS 


BY 


W. H. VENABLE, 
n 



WILSON, HINKLE & CO., 


137 WALNUT STREET, 
CINCINNATI. 


28 BOND STREET, 
NEW YORK. 


‘P/V6I2.0 
,/\4 V43 
0 * 1 ^ 1 2 . 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
WILSON, HINKLE & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

ELECT ROT Y FED AT THE FRANKLIN TYPE FOUNDRY. CINCINNATI. 


Gift 

Mrs. Henrren Jennings 
April 26, 1933 


o 




•Y 

4 

0 




'I ') } 


PEE FA 0 E . 


“ People mutht be amuthed , Thquire, thomehow ; they can't be 
alwayth a-working, nor yet they can't be alwayth a-learning ." — 
Sleary, in Dickens’s Hard Times. 

The School Exhibition is an established form of popular enter- 
tainment, and some kind of dramatic performance is a feature 
essential to its success. Home theatricals for children are also 
much encouraged, especially in large towns ; and the demand 
for good, short dialogues and acting plays is increasing. 

The pieces here submitted to the young folks and their 
advisers, though not all selected to convey particular lessons, 
are believed to be unexceptionable in moral tendency. They 
are designed to amuse, quite as much as to instruct. The r61es 
are almost all easy ; the language is simple ; the action practicable 
in any ordinary school-house or good-sized parlor. The humor 
of the comic parts has been divested of unnecessary rudeness 
and pointless buffoonery. 

The selections are derived from widely different sources, and 
afford much variety in subject and style. Some are copied, 
with slight alteration, from hooks of plays ; others have been 
dramatized from standard works of fiction, chiefly juvenile ; and 
several were composed expressly for this volume. The adapta- 
tion from Jane Eyre , and that from Tom Brown , have been 
modified by the addition of some passages not inconsistent with 
the spirit of the original, and which dramatic completeness 
seemed to require. 

We would call attention to the fact that almost all the drama- 
tis personse, in these little plays, are children, or, very young 
ladies and gentlemen. A good deal of difficulty has been 

(iii) 


IV 


PREFACE. 


experienced in providing pieces suitable for very young lads 
and misses. The selections adapted to actors “ on the other side 
of eight years old,” are found on the first pages after the Intro- 
duction. 

Many hints and suggestions, indispensable for young per- 
formers, and perhaps useful for inexperienced managers, will be 
found in the Introduction, which should be carefully read by 
all who use the book. Plain and full directions relating to 
costumes, properties, and stage business, are given, in connec- 
tion with particular dialogues and dramas. 

The editor would return thanks to Miss L. M. Alcott, for the 
privilege of dramatizing scenes from Little Women; and to Prof. 
Carl Knortz for his acceptable contribution, the melodramatic 
version of Schneewittchen. 

Our Illustrations , from the graceful pencil of Mr. H. F. Famey, 
are not only useful in suggesting proper costumes and attitudes 
to young actors, but also very spirited, and pleasing as artistic 
designs. W. H. V. 

July, 1873. 


CONTENTS 





PAGE 

Introduction 

. 

• 

. 7 

The Sincere Mourner .... 



. 17 

Dolly’s Doctor . . . 



. 20 

Master Goat, the Tailor .... 



. 22 

Mother Goose and her Friends 



. 27 

The Chinese Damsel .... 



. 40 

Little Silver Hair and the Three Bears. 



. 44 

A Champion, Though No Fighter 



. 50 

A Lighter-Boy at School 



. 55 

Lazy Lawrence ..... 



. 59 

Diamonds and Toads .... 



. 63 

Tarleton 



. 71 

The White Princess .... 



. 87 

Good Actions Mend Bad Actions 



. 96 

Nonsense; or, Two Ways of Training Boys 



. 101 

Cinderella; or, Pride Punished 



. 113 

Rigmarole ... . 



. 135 

The Fags’ Revolt 



. 143 

Tricks in a Doctor’s Shop 



. 156 

The Little Dependent .... 

• 


. 164 

00 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Contentment 181 

The Irish Valet 194 

Imaginary Possessions 197 

A Colored Witness 201 

Irish Equivocation 205 

Grit as Well as Manners 207 

Alfred, the King ........ 209 

Little Snow White 218 



5TAGE suitable for the representation of simple 



dramatic pieces, should he one of the appurte- 
nances of every complete school-house. Such a stage 
may easily he constructed, in movable sections, to he 
put together for use as occasion requires, and stored 
away, in small compass, when not needed. 

It consists essentially of a platform of flooring- 
planks, supported upon stout trestles. It should he 
at least twelve feet wide by eight deep, — wider and 
deeper if practicable. The height of the trestles 
should he from one to three or four feet, according 
to the size of the audience room. The surface of the 
floor should he smooth and even, hut may slope an 
inch or two from hack to front. A light, firm frame- 


( 7 ) 


8 


THE STAGE. 


work should be attached to the platform, as repre- 
sented in the accompanying diagram. 

The frame-work is designed to support the curtain 
and other drapery of the stage. 

It will he found convenient in most school-houses 
and ordinary halls, to improvise dressing-rooms by 
suspending curtains from braces extending from A 
and B to the side walls of the audience room. 



DIAGRAM 1. 


Side curtains, or wings, may also be hung from the 
strips A E and B F. The space from C D to the 
floor should be draped or valanced in an appropriate 
manner. The accessory drapery should correspond 
in color and quality with the main curtain. The 
stage should be neatly carpeted. 

Curtains. 

The main curtain should be made of green muslin, 
or, better, of some heavier material. The ordinary 
draw-curtain consists of two pieces; the mode of 
working it may be understood by reference to dia- 


CURTAINS. 


9 



gram second. The curtain is suspended by a number 
of small rings strung upon a smooth wire tightly 
stretched from A to B. Cords fastened to the rings 
c and a, and running through all the rings on that 
half of the curtain marked L, pass over the pulley 
A, and serve to open R and close L ; and like cords 
passing in an opposite direction serve to open L and 
close R. 



Diagram third gives a rear view of the common 
lift curtain. A rod, or long wooden slat, is fastened 
to the bottom of the curtain to give it sufficient 
weight. Three or more rows of rings are sewed to 
the curtain from top to bottom. A cord is tied to 


10 


LIGHTING THE STAGE. 


the lowest ring in each row, passed through the 
series of rings above, and over a pulley at the top. 

A small curtain may he rolled up and down as an 
ordinary window blind, but it should be provided 
with two cords, one at each side. 

Lighting the Stage. 

The stage should be brilliantly illuminated; in 
fact, it can hardly be made too light. Where gas 
is not in use, it is best to procure a number of kero- 
sene, or lard oil lamps. These should be provided 
with reflectors of polished tin and placed in a row, 
either upon the floor of the stage itself, or upon 
supports fixed a little in front. If they set on the 
floor of the stage they should be covered with wire 
guards. 

It is a very good plan to hang a row of head- 
lights upon the slat A B, diagram first. Side 
lights may also be employed with advantage. 
The light in the auditorium should be subdued, 
so as to increase the effect of that upon the stage. 
Every precaution should be taken to prevent the 
possibility of accident by fire. 

Selection and Casting of Plays. 

The management of the school stage will usually 
fall upon a teacher. It is a task by no means easy, 
and requires ingenuity, patience, and authority. 
One thing we would say with emphasis to the boys 


HOW TO STUDY A PART. 


11 


and girls who take part in plays : obey the manager 
implicitly ; observe his advice and directions with 
the closest attention. 

It is the manager’s duty to select the play, read 
it aloud to the performers, and cast the parts. In 
the important matter of casting parts, the man- 
ager’s judgment must overrule special wishes and 
tastes. All can not hope to he satisfied. All can 
not he cast for leading characters. It is a rule in 
some good theaters that a performer refusing the 
part allotted to him forfeits a week’s salary. 

There are those who, mistaking the quality or 
degree of their dramatic ability, desire to appear 
in parts for which they are unfitted. Others allow 
pride and jealousy to conquer both wisdom and 
good nature, and, by their obstinate selfishness, 
seriously interfere with plans designed to benefit 
and amuse hundreds. Young people will hardly 
find an occasion on which good manners and an 
obliging disposition are more desirable than during 
the preparation and performance of school dramas. 

How to Study a Part. 

As soon as a part has been assigned, it should be 
thoroughly studied. The entire play ought to be 
read over carefully three or four times, in order 
that the plot and action may be distinctly under- 
stood. Indeed, it is best to commit the whole play 
to memory, and they who take the pains to do this 
will find their reward in it when they come before 


12 


REHEARSALS. 


an audience. Almost every thing depends upon the 
actor’s familiarity with the language of his part. 
The least hesitation, the slightest appearance of 
effort to recall a word, is fatal to dramatic effect. 
No one can act naturally who is haunted by the 
fear that he may forget what he ought to say. Do 
not depend upon the prompter ; but rather strive to 
know, not only your own, but the other parts, so 
well that you may prompt any performer engaged 
with you in the play. It is an excellent plan to 
copy your part entire, including your cues , and to 
study from the copy. A cue is the last two or three 
words of a speech preceding your own, by hearing 
which you know when to speak. 

The best way to study a piece is line by line. 
Apply your mind with the utmost intensity, and 
you will learn with surprising rapidity. An hour 
of close, unremitting study is worth a week of 
dawdling. Read your part aloud frequently. Learn 
the exact meaning and force of every sentence. Be 
sure to pronounce all the words correctly. Above 
all, memorize accurately ; take no liberties whatever 
with the text before you, but learn what is set down 
for you — all of it, and nothing besides. Make this 
a point of conscience. 

Rehearsals . 

Having once learned your part, you can not re- 
hearse too frequently. No play ought to be brought 


REHEARSALS. 


13 


before an audience unless it has been rehearsed at 
least three times. It would be profitable, in most 
cases, to rehearse thrice three times. Rehearsals 
should be conducted with order and decorum. All 
the performers should be present. Romping, talk- 
ing, and moving about must be prohibited. Each 
actor should subordinate himself to the general de- 
sign of the performance. It must be remembered 
that the drama in preparation, to be a success, must 
please as a whole. All the characters are impor- 
tant. Each must perform his part with reference 
to all his fellow actors. 

The rehearsal should be regarded as earnest work, 
not as an occasion for idle foolery and inattention. 
Do not indulge the hope that every thing will come 
right at the final public performance, in spite of 
partial failures beforehand. The final performance 
is rarely better than the last rehearsal, and it not 
unfrequently proves far worse. Trust nothing to 
good luck in the future. Place no dependence in 
the “inspiration of an audience.” Re perfect at 
your rehearsal. Anticipate all probable emergen- 
cies. Procure every property and costume in ad- 
vance, even to the most trifling article. 

Go through with your performance, at least once, 
in full costume, and upon the stage provided for 
the final public exhibition. Then it will be learned 
whether the stage furniture and appurtenances are 
complete and in working order or not. There ought 
to be an interval of several hours between the last 


14 


RULES FOR ACTORS. 


rehearsal and the public performance, so that the 
actors may rest and refresh themselves for the 
fatiguing exercises which await them. 


Rules for Actors. 

1. Be prompt. Do not on any account keep the 
audience waiting. No matter how excellent your 
acting, or how pretty your costume, the pleasant 
impression will be destroyed by any hitch or delay 
in the performance. The temper of a houseful may 
be ruffled for an evening by the tardiness of some 
vain miss, who lingers a minute too long at the 
looking-glass. 

2. Conduct the performance deliberately, and 
without rush or flurry. Keep a quiet mind, and 
consider all that is going forward. Give each 
speaker a fair opportunity to do justice to his 
part. In short, acquit youself in a genteel and 
artistic manner. 

3. Be attentive to the proper carriage of your 
body and limbs. The step should generally be light 
and firm, the gestures graceful, the postures easy. 
Know, before appearing on the stage, just what 
you are to do , as well as what you are to say. 
Study your entrances and exits. Try to maintain 
a composed and lively air, but never an impudent 
one. Learn to stand still when there is no particu- 
lar reason for moving about. 

4. Keep the stage well dressed; that is, do not 


RULES FOR ACTORS. 


15 


crowd together, but disperse and arrange your- 
selves on the stage, so that you will at all times 
present an agreeable tableau to the audience. This 
is an important rule. 

5. Avoid looking at your audience ; but always 
look at the person to whom you are speaking. Let 
your thoughts and energies be directed to the per- 
formance, not to the surroundings. Lose yourself 
in the character you represent. 

6. Speak loud enough to be heard by the remot- 
est auditor, and yet maintain a natural manner. 
This is extremely difficult. Pronounce your asides 
very distinctly. Should any disturbing noise occur, 
pause until it subsides. Never forget that you are 
playing to entertain the listeners. There is no use 
of speaking unless you are heard. Play with spirit 
and enthusiasm, but never rant. Avoid speaking 
with your back to the audience. 

7. Confine yourself strictly to the language of 
your part as it is printed , introducing nothing of 
your own, except by the express j)ermission of the 
manager. There are, in every school, certain would- 
be witty young gentlemen to whom this paragraph 
is specially commended. Shakespeare says, “ Let 
those that play your clowns speak no more than 
is set down for them.” Nothing can be in worse 
taste than the introduction of gags , in an ordinary 
school drama. The school stage should be some- 
thing altogether more refined and elevating than 
the average theater. 


16 


PROPERTIES AND COSTUMES. 


8. Admit none behind the scenes but those who 
are wanted there; and do not disturb the perform- 
ance by loud talking or other noise. 

Properties and Costumes. 

The term Properties is applied to stage furniture 
and accessories, such as' tables, chairs, bells; and to 
all articles needed by actors, not included under 
the head of costume. It is prudent to have all 
the properties at hand for the last rehearsal. 

The costumes required for the effective represen- 
tation of the pieces in this book, are almost all 
simple, and easily contrived. One rule may here be 
given : Dress strictly in character. Do not aim to 
appear either elegant, beautiful, or grotesque, at the 
sacrifice of dramatic propriety. Costume is designed 
to heighten stage illusion, and it should make you 
resemble, as nearly as possible, the imaginary per- 
son whom you represent. 

Instrumental music is almost indispensable to the 
proper rendering of most dramas. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Mary, a little girl , six years old. 
Hattie, her sister, aged four. 

Clara, friend of the above , aged six. 


Scene : — A play-house. Clara mending her doll's 
hat. Enter Mary and Hattie. 

Clara. How d’ye do? Sit down. I’m trimming 
dolly’s old hat. Look ! 

Mary. Mamma ’s going to get us a wax dolly, 
Christmas. 

Hattie. Yes, if we are good, she is. 

Mary. Do you know why? 

S. T. 2. 


The Sincere Mourner.. 


(17) 


18 


THE SINCERE MOURNER. 


Hattie. I know why — I ’ll tell you why. 

Mary. Ho, Hattie, do n’t tell ; let Clara guess. 

Clara. But I can’t guess. 

Hattie. ’Cause 

Mary. [ Interrupting ] ’Cause Tommy’s dead. 

Hattie. Did you know, Clara, that Tommy was 
dead? 

Clara. Mercy, no! What, your yellow cat? . 

Hattie. [ Nodding ] ’m ’m. 

Mary. It makes me feel bad to tell you about 
it. Tommy was a good cat — real good. 

Clara. He scratched you sometimes. 

Mary. He used to scratch me, at first, to get 
the meat out of my hand. But, at last, he got so 
that he waited till I put the meat in the dish. 
He knew I meant to be kind. 

Clara. He caught a bird, and ate it up. 

Mary. Ho, he did n’t eat it up — I pulled it 
away. 

Hattie. When sister pulled the bird away, Tom- 
my did this. 

[ Imitates the growling and spitting of a cat. 

Mary. I do n’t care — Tommy was a good cat. 

Clara. What made him die? 

Hattie. He was sick. 

Clara. Yes, of course he was sick; hut what 
kind of sick was lie? 

Mary. I don’t know. Aunty says he was too 
high fed. 

Clara. What is high fed ? 


THE SINCERE MOURNER. 


19 


Mary. I don’t know. Mamma thinks he had 
a fit. 

Hattie. Yes, and he did. He ran all over the 
yard, and tumbled on his head in the rose-bush. 

Clara. Why didn’t you send for the doctor? 

Hattie. Why, Clara ! Doctors do n’t cure cats ! 

Mary. I wish Tommy was alive now. He loved 
me so much. 

Hattie. Do n’t feel bad sister ; you know mamma 
will get us the wax doll. 

Mary. Yes, but I want just Tommy. 

Hattie. He ate grass, didn’t he? 

Clara. Where did you throw him? 

Mary. We buried him in the ground. Papa dug 
a hole with the shovel 

Hattie. Yes, and we put him in. 

Clara. Put your Papa in? 

Hattie. Ho, you teazy girl — put pussy in. 

Mary. And I made a tombstone for him, of a 
pine stick. 

Hattie. Two tombstones, sister — you made two. 

Mary. Yes, one for the head, and one for the 
tail ; and I printed “ Tommy ” on the one for the 
head. 

Clara. How did you print “Tommy?” 

Mary. With a lead-pencil. Can you spell 
“ Tommy?” 

Clara. Ho. Can you? 

Mary. Yes — T-o-m-y, “Tommy.” Come let us 
go and sec his grave. Exeunt. 


20 


dolly’s doctor. 



From Rhyme and Reason. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Scene : — A. child's play- 
house, with chairs and 
a miniature table, on 
which are toys and a 
dish of fruit-cake. 


OLLY’S DOCTOR 


Mary, Dolly's mother. 
Fred, Dolly's doctor. 
Dolly. 


Mary kneeling beside a cradle in ivhich Dolly lies ill. 
Enter Fred, dressed in mans clothes, with a thick 
cane, and an old fashioned medicine chest. 


Mary. Come and see my baby, clear ; 

Doctor, she is ill, I fear. 

Yesterday, do what I would, 

She would touch no kind of food ; 

And she tosses, moans, and cries. 

Doctor, what do you advise? 

[Fred feels Dolly’s pulse. 
Hum ! ha ! good madam, tell me, pray, 


Fred. 


dolly’s doctor. 


21 


What have you offered her to-day? 

[ Looks at the cake. 
Ah, yes! I see! a jdece of cake — 

The worst thing you could make her take. 
Just let me taste. 1 es, yes ; I fear [ Eating it. 
Too many plums and currants here. 

But, stop; I must just taste again, 

For that will make the matter plain. 

[Fred eats the rest of the cake. Mary goes to 
the table and looks at the empty plate. 
Mary. But, Doctor, pray excuse me now — 

You Ve eaten all the cake, I vow ! 

I thank you kindly for your care ; 

But surely that was hardly fair. 

Fred.. \_Looks surprised on the empty plate which 
Mary holds out to him ] 

Ah, dear me! did I eat the cake? 

Well, it was for dear baby’s sake. 

But keep her in her bed, well warm, 

And, you will see, she ’ll take no harm. 

At night and morning use once more 
Her draught and powder as before; 

And she must not be over-fed, 

But she may have a piece of bread. 
To-morrow, then, I dare to say, 

She ’ll be quite right. Good day, good day. 

[Fred goes out , then comes back and says: 
How keep her warm, and very still. 

I’ll call to-morrow with the bill. [Exit. 
Curtain. 


22 


MASTER GOAT, THE TAILOR. 





ill ASTER GOAT, 


Adapted from II. W. Dulcken’s 
Rhyme and Reason. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


THE TAILOR. 


Master Goat. 


Master Mote. 


Scene : — A tailor's shop. Master Goat seated on his 
table sewing vigorously. Music. Enter Master 
Mote, bowing politely. 

Mote. Good day, Master Goat. 

Goat. \_Loohing up~] Same to you, Master Mote. 

Mote. How much cloth for a coat? 

Goat. [ After reflecting Seven yards, Master Mote. 

Mote. When shall I have it, Master Goat? 

Goat. [ Getting down from the table , and putting his 
hand to his head , as if considering ] 

As soon as it ’s made — 

Say, on Saturday evening. 

[Mote bows and goes out. Goat takes up his 
work and also goes out, in opposite direc- 
tion. Music. Enter Mote and Goat, the 
latter with a large roll of cloth. A week 
is supposed to have elapsed. 


MASTER GOAT, THE TAILOR. 


23 


Mote. Good evening, Master Goat. 

Goat. Same to you, Master Mote. 

Mote. Well, pray, where’s my coat? 

Goat. Not cloth enough, Master Mote. 

Mote. Seven yards, and no coat! 

What ’ll you make, Master Goat ? 

Goat. Why, a jacket, Master Mote. 

Mote. When shall I have it? 

Goat. As soon as it ’s made — 

On Saturday evening. 

\They bow politely, and exeunt as before * After 
a short musical interlude , they come back 
again , Goat this time carrying a yard- 
stick. 

Mote. Good evening, Master Goat. 

Goat. [Coolly] Same to you, Master Mote. 

Mote. [Sharply] Well, pray, where’s my jacket? 

Goat. [ Indifferently ] Not enough cloth, Master Mote. 

Mote. [ With surprise ] Seven yards, and no jacket, 
and no coat! 

What will you make, Master Goat? 

Goat. [Obligingly] Why, a waistcoat, Master Mote. 

Mote. [Nodding approval] When shall I have it? 

Goat. [Politely] As soon as it ’s made — 

Call Saturday evening. [He bows Master 
Mote out , then goes off as before , the music 
playing. The two soon return , Mote look- 
ing cross , Goat carrying a tailor's goose. 

Mote. [Shortly] Good evening, Master Goat. 

[Goat pretends not to notice him. 


24 MASTER GOAT, THE TAILOR. 

♦ 

Good evening, Master Goat! [ Very loud. 
Goat. [ Indifferently ] Ah, same to you, Master Mote. 
Mote. Well, pray, where’s my waistcoat? 

Goat. [ Working with the goose] Not cloth enough. 
Mote. [ Gives a whistle of astonishment ] 

Seven yards, and no waistcoat, and no jacket, 
and no coat ! 

What will it make, Master Goat? 

Goat. [. Looking at ceiling'] 

A pair of gaiters, Master Mote. 

Mote. [Dryly] When shall I have them? 

Goat. [ Taking out his day-book and looking it over] 
As soon as they are made — 

Say Saturday evening. 

[Exeunt. Music. Enter Mote, very much ex- 
cited, cane in hand; meets Goat, carrying 
a large pair of scissors , with which he 
snips to drown Mote’s voice. 

Mote. Good evening, Master Goat. 

Good evening , Master Goat! 

Good evening, Master Goat ! ! 

Goat. [Cordially 'putting out his hand] 

Why, how are you, Brother Mote ? 

Mote. [Drawing back] Well, where are my gaiters? 
Goat. [Cutting on table in an absorbed, manner] 

Not enough cloth, Master Mote. 

Mote. Seven yards, and no gaiters, and no waist- 
coat, and no jacket, and no coat ! 

[Strikes table , causing Goat to jump. 
What will it make, Master Goat? 


MASTER GOAT, THE TAILOR. 


25 


Goat. [- Staring upward as if in deep thought ] 

A pair of gloves, and a finger-stall. 

Mote. A pair of gloves 

Goat. And a finger-stall. 

Mote. [ With a long face ] And a finger-stall. 

Goat. A pair of gloves, and a finger-stall. 

Mote. [ Dismally ] When shall I have them? 

Goat. As soon as they’re made, 

Mote. On Saturday evening, say. 

[ Exeunt . Music with discords. Enter Mote, 
in his shirt-sleeves , with a horsewhip ; he 
takes his place at the hack of the stage. 
Enter Goat, humming a tune; he takes 
his place on the table , with crossed legs. 
Mote advances stealthily , leans forward 
over the table , and suddenly shouts in 
Goat’s ear. 

Mote. Good evening, Master Goat ! 

Goat, [i Springing up and standing on table ] 

Same to you, Master Mote ! 

Mote. [ Flourishing whip'] 

Well, where are my gloves ? 

Goat. [ Frightened ] Why, the cloth ’s worn out ! 

It has been on my hand 
Five weeks, you understand ! 

[Mote lashes Goat about the legs , which should 
be whip-proof. Goat dances around the 
table and cries aloud , while the music 
plays up merrily. 

Curtain. 


26 MASTER GOAT, THE TAILOR. 

COSTUMES. 

Master Goat should wear long, loose pantaloons; a long vest 
or waistcoat; no coat; a skull cap on his head; and slip- 
pers on his feet. He should also be provided with spec- 
tacles, and may hang a tape measure about his neck. 
Master Mote will appear best in an elegant suit, of the latest 
style, to represent a very fashionable young gentleman. 

PROPERTIES. 

A table; a roll of cloth; a yard-stick; a tailor’s goose and 
shears; an account-book; some sewing- work; a pair of spec- 
tacles; a tape measure; a cane; and a whip. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

This bit of nonsense may be performed by two quite small 
lads. The music may be dispensed with, but should be pro- 
vided if convenient. The scenes may follow one another at 
intervals during a whole evening’s entertainment, being alter- 
nated with other exercises. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


27 



{j^OTHEF^OOjSE 

l / AV\D 1-jER^Fl^E^fD^ 


3 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Mother Goose. 
Tom Tucker. 
Johnny Horner. 
Jack Sprat. 


Mrs. Sprat. 
Boy Blue. 
Miss Muffet. 
Jack Jingle. 
Jack. 


Mrs. Jingle. 

Tom, the Piper's son. 
The Bun Boy. 

Baby Bunting. 


Scene : — A large room. A table with plates , tea cups , 
bread , butter , and a knife. Mother Goose in an 
arm-chair at left end of table , and facing audience. 
She has toy -books on her lap , and wears spectacles. 

Mother G. Well, this is cozy, I declare; 

A cup of tea, an easy chair, 


28 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


Boy B. 
Mother G. 
Boy B. 
Mother G. 
Boy B. 


Mother G. 


A merry book of rhyme to read — 

I am a lucky dame indeed. 

[A horn blows without. 
What noise is that? Now, I ’ll be bound 
There ’s mischief in that saucy sound. 

[ Enter Boy Blue. 

Good evening. 

Heyday, is it you? 

Just me, the Little Boy in Blue. 

And so it is, how do you do ? 

Why, Mother Goose, I ’m only so — so, 
The cows and sheep do make me blow so. 
I need more rest and sleep. 

I know so. 

So never mind the cows and sheep, 

But lie down here and go to sleep, 

[Boy Blue lies down on the right. 
And I will read you something pretty, 
By my good friend, Christine Rosetti. 
[Reads'] “Three plum buns to eat here 
at the stile, 

In the clover meadow, for we have 
walked a mile. 

One for you, and one for me, and one 
left over : 

Give it to the boy who shouts to scare 
sheep from the clover.” 

[ Without, singing to the tune of u Auld 
Lang Syne ”] 

When good King Arthur ruled this land, 


Tom T. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


29 


Mother G. 
Tom T. 


Mother G. 


Tom T. 


Mother G. 


He was a goodly king, 

He stole three pecks of barley -meal, 

To make a bag -pudding. 

A bag-pudding the king did make, 

And stuff’d it well with plums; 

And in it put great lumps of fat, 

As big as my two thumbs. 

That must be Tommy Tucker, singing 
for his supper. [ Enter Tom. 

[Continues singing ] 

The king and queen did eat thereof, 

And noblemen beside, 

And what they could not eat that night, 
The queen next morning fried. 

[Looks wishfully at table and says : 
Good Mother Goose, is supper ready? 
What have you? Tea and baker’s bread, 
eh? 

Yes, you impatient little fellow, 

Black tea, white bread, and butter yellow. 
How good a sauce to food is hunger, 

I proved the saying oft when younger. 
Yery good bread and very good butter. 
How shall I cut it without any cutter ? 
[Takes his place behind table , and facing 
audience. Enter Miss Muffet with a 
dish of curds. 

Here is a knife, so go on with your eating. 
And here, on my life, is my beautiful 
sweeting. 


30 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


Tom T. [. Aside ] I can not eat a single bite. 

She takes away my appetite. 

I ’m overcome with love at sight. 

[Sings, to air , “ Araby's Daughter 

Curly locks, curly locks, wilt thou be mine ? 

Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine ; 
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam, 

And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream. 

Mother G. Tommy Tucker, hush ! how you make 
her blush ! 

This is Miss Muffet, who sat on a tuffet, 
Eating of curds and whey. 

Miss M. There came a great spider, 

And sat down beside her, 

And frightened Miss Muffet away. 

[She puts curds on table , and stands by 
Tom. They eat , and talk in dumb show. 
Mother G. T is a pretty sight to see * 

Xiittlc boys and girls agree. 

[Enter J ohnny Horner with a big pie. 
Who is this that makes so free ? 

Johnny H. I ’m little Johnny Horner, 

I ’ll just sit here in the corner. 

[Sits down , on left, near front. 
Miss M. Oh, my ! See the pie ! 

Johnny H. What a brave boy am I! 

[Holding up a plum. 

Tom T. Have some more, Bady Muffet. 

Miss M. Ho, I thank you, I ’ve enough it. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


31 


Johnny H. Come, come, here ’s a plum, 

As big as Mother Goose’s thumb. 

Miss M. Tommy Tucker, you may stay 

Here, and eat the curds and whey. 

I ’m a-going to run away. 

[ Goes to Horner and sits on the floor be- 
side him. They converse in dumb show , 
Horner feeding her raisins out of the 
pie. Tucker scowls. Noise without. 
Enter Jack and Jill, carrying a pail. 
Mother G. Jack and Jill went up the hill 
To fetch a pail of water. 

Jill. [Archly pointing at Jack] 

Jack fell down and broke his crown — 
Jack. [ Pointing at Jill] 

And Jill came tumbling after. 

Jill. Up Jack got and home did trot 

As fast as he could caper. 

Mother G. ’Twill be your job [To Jill. 

To cure his knob 
With vinegar and brown paper. 

[Jack sits down on pail at right , and Jill 
bandages his head. 

Tom T. [Jealously] See that glutton Horner 
Lounging in the corner. 

Johnny H. [ To Muffet] So you outran the spider ? 
Here ! open ; wider, wider. 

[Holding a large bit of pie to her lips. 
Bun Boy. [ Without , rings a bell and then cries : 

Hot cross-buns, hot cross-buns, 


32 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


Tom T 


Mother 

Mrs. S. 
Jack S. 
Mrs. S, 
Jack S. 

Mother 
Mrs. S 
Jack S. 
Mother 


One a penny, two a penny, 

Hot cross-buns. 

If your daughters don’t like them, 

Give them to your sons. [ Enters . 

One a penny, two a penny, 

Hot cross-buns. 

[ Crosses the stage ringing , and exit. 
I found a crooked sixpence 
Beside a crooked stile. 

I ’ll catch that crooked Bun Boy, 

If I run a crooked mile, 

And I ’ll buy some crooked biscuits 
To win her crooked smile. 

[. He starts out and treads upon Boy Blue, 
who jumps up and blows his horn, 
then sits down with Miss Muffet. 
Enter Mrs. Sprat, followed by Jack 
Sprat carrying Baby Bunting. 

G. Why, Mrs. Sprat, I ’m glad you ’ve come. 
How are the other folks at home ? 
Mother’s gone a milking — 

Sister’s gone a silking — 

Brother’s gone to buy a skin. 

[ Fondly ] To buy a little rabbit skin 
To wrap the Baby Bunting in. 

G. Mrs. Sprat, you ’re looking thin. 

[. Arms akimbo'] Jack Sprat can eat no fat. 
[Slyly] And his wife can eat no lean. 

G. So ’twixt you both you clear the cloth 
And lick the platter clean. [Baby cries . 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


33 


Jack S. 
Mrs. S. 

Jack S. 


Mrs. S. 

Jack S. 

Mother G. 
Jack S. 
Mother G. 
Jack S. 

Mrs. J. 


Hush-a-bye, baby, daddy is near, 
Mammy’s a lady, and that ’s very clear. 
My little old man and I fell out, 

I ’ll tell you what ’twas all about. 

I had money, and he had none, 

And that ’s the way the noise begun. 
There was an old woman, and what do 
you think, 

She lived upon nothing but victuals and 
drink. 

Victuals and drink was the whole of her 
diet, 

Yet this plaguy old woman could never 
be quiet. 

Tell tale, tit ! 

Your tongue shall be slit ; 

And all the dogs in town 
Shall have a little bit. 

[ Comically to audience ] 

Needles and pins, needles and pins. 

When a man marries his trouble begins. 
There ’s some one coming, I declare. 
Some one ; yes, more than one ; a pair. 
Who are they, Mr. Sprat? 

Do n’t know. 

A rather stylish turnout, though. 

\Enter Jack Jingle with his wife on a 
wheelbarrow. 

[ Pointing to J. Jingle] Little Jack Jingle, 
He used to live single ; 


34 


Jingle. 

Jack S. 
Jingle. 

Jack S. 
Jingle. 


Jack S. 
Jingle. 


Jack S. 
Jingle. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 

But when he got tired of this kind of life, 

He left off being single, and got him a 
wife. 

When I was a bachelor, I lived by my- 
self — 

So did I. 

And all the bread and cheese I got I put 
upon a shelf — 

So did I. 

The rats and the mice did lead me such 
a life, 

That I went to London to get myself a 
wife. 

So did I. ‘ 

The roads were so bad and the lanes were 
so narrow, 

I was forced to bring my wife home on a 
wheelbarrow. 

[ Pointing to Mrs. Sprat] Oh ! the idea ! 

The wheelbarrow broke and my wife got 
a fall, 

Down tumbled wheelbarrow, little wife, 
and all. 

[ They all laugh. Jack Sprat lets the baby 
fall. Mother Goose, Jack and Jill, 
Jack Jingle and Mrs. Sprat crowd 
round with exclamations of pity. Jack 
picks up the baby in a horrified man- 
ner. Some one of them imitates the 
crying of a baby. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


35 


Jack S. . 


Mrs. S. 
Jack S. 
Jingle. 
Jack S. 


Jingle. 


Jack S. 


Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top ! 

When the wind blows the cradle will 
rock ; 

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, 
Down will come baby, cradle, and all. 

Oh you careless Sprat. 

Take the squalling brat. 

Hear the heartless man. 

Hush it if you can. 

[ Gives the baby to J. Jingle. Baby con- 
tinues to cry. 

[ Holding baby at arms' length ] 

Dance to your daddy, my bonny laddy ; 
Dance to your ninny, my sweet lamb ; 
You shall have a fishy in a little dishy, 
And a whirligigy, and some nice jam. 

[. Baby cries. 

Ho go! Here Jack; 

Take bonny laddy back. 

[ Tossing baby very high ] ' 

Dance, little baby, dance up high. 

Never mind, baby, mother is nigh ; 

Crow and caper, caper and crow, 

There, little baby, there you go. 

[Baby cries. 

I ’m tired out ! my love, do take 
The darling, for his papa’s sake. 

Oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do? 

Oh, Mother Goose, boo-hoo-hoo-hoo. 

[Cries. 


Mrs. S. 


36 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


Mother G. 

Jack S. 

Mother G. 
All 

Tom T. 

Jack S. 

Boy B. 
Mrs. S. 

Jack S. 


Give him a dose of soothing syrup, 

And I warrant he wo n’t chirrup. 

Soothing syrup ! happy thought ! 

Where can the article he bought ? 

Just follow me, I ’ll show the way. 

We follow you, hip, hip, hurra! 

[ Exeunt , in order , Mother G., Mrs. Sprat, 
Jack S., Jack, Jill, and Jingle 
wheeling wife. During foregoing , Hor- 
ner falls asleep , and Blue entertains 
Muffet with toys and beads. Enter 
Tucker, who cries excitedly: 

Little Boy Blue, come blow me your 
horn, 

The sheep ’re in the meadow, the cow ’s 
in the corn. 

[Blue runs out , blowing his horn. Tucker 
sits down and entertains Muffet with 
conversation and buns. Enter Mother 
G., and the three couples arm in arm. 

He went to sleep without a peep. 

And free from sorrow 

He slumbers sweetly, coiled up neatly 
On the wheelbarrow. 

[ Enter Boy Blue excitedly. 

Here comes young Tom, the Piper’s son. 

Good gracious, Jack, then let ’s be gone. 

In spite of all we wish or say 

We ’ll dance if he begins to play. 

You dance most gracefully, my dear. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


37 


Mrs. S. 
Tom P. 


Mrs. S. 
Jack S. 
Mrs. S. 

Tom P. 


Mrs. S. 


’T is not the same with you, I fear. 

[ Enter briskly Tom, the Piper's son. 
Halloo ! Bon jour good folks, wie gehts f 
What? knives and forks, and spoons and 
plates ? 

And tea and sugar, curds and whey? 
White bread and butter ? Friends, I say, 
Let ’s all sit down and have a snack. 

[Eats and sips tea. 

If I would speak behind his back — 
Hush, Mrs. Sprat ! He ’ll hear. 

Who cares? 

He needn’t strut and put on airs. 
[Seeing Tucker and Muffet] 

What ’s here ! fresh buns ? or are they 
tarts ? 

My dear, you look the Queen of hearts. 
Thanks, Tucker ; yes, I ’ll take a few. 

Do n’t let me rob you ; that will do. 

[Distributes buns. To Jingle: 
Is this your sister? [To Mrs. J.] Pretty 
miss, 

I ’ll give a bun for half a kiss. 

It’s all right Jingle, don’t look blue, 

It ’s just the way I always do. 

See here ; you see I go the rounds — 
Hext. [To Mrs. Sprat] Have a cross- 
bun, madam ? — Zounds ! 

[Severely'] Tom, Tom, the Piper’s son 
He stole a pig and away he run. 


38 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


All. The pig was eat, and Tom was beat, 

Tom P. Good people, hear me, I entreat. 

All. And he went roaring down the street. 

Mother G. Be silent ! hear what he can say. 

Tom P. Thanks. Listen, then, good folks, I pray. 

[Sings : 

I am a piper’s only son, 

I learned to play when I was young ; 

But all the tunc that I could play 
Was “ Over the hills and far away ! ” 

My magic pipe made such a noise, 

As pleased the merry girls and boys ; 
And they all stopped to hear me play 
My “ Over the hills and far away ! ” 

I play my pipe with so much skill, 

That those who hear can not stand still ; 
But after me begin to dance ! 

I make e ’en pigs and ponies prance. 

Mother G. If this be true, as you avow, 

Just prove it so by piping now. 

[Tom plays his flute and all dance. Muf- 
fet takes Piper’s arm and skips out to 
music , followed by the whole company. 


PROPERTIES. 

An arm-chair; a table, plates, cups, saucers, knife, loaf, but- 
ter, Christmas pie; tin horn; a fife or flute; a wheelbarrow; 
some toy books; string of beads; a very large doll-baby; a 
bell; a basket of buns; spectacles and staff. 


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FRIENDS. 


39 


COSTUMES. 

Mother Goose. — A sugar-loaf hat; an old-fashioned wrapper, 
with strings tied in front, and leg of mutton sleeves; 
spectacles and staff; face wrinkled, but jolly. 

Boy Blue.— Bright blue suit throughout, with cap and tassel. 
Tom Tucker.— Nankeen suit; straw hat. 

Miss Muffet. — A showy dress; curly hair. 

Johnny Horner. — A belted blouse with short skirt; Turkish 
trowsers; skull cap. Should be fat and chubby-looking. 
Jack. — Shirtsleeves; trowsers tucked into boots ; torn hat. 
Jill. — Short gown; white apron; gipsy hat; flowing hair. 

Jack Jingle. — Stylish outfit; kid gloves; tall hat. 

Mrs. Jingle. — Bride’s traveling costume; bouquet. 

Jack Sprat. — Striped tights ; close-fitting long-tailed coat; very 
tall hat. 

Mrs. Sprat. — A Dolly Varden calico with full waist; immense 
shovel bonnet, grotesquely trimmed; brass chain; traveling 
bag; she should be made to look as large as possible. 

Bun Boy. — An ordinary suit almost covered by a large baker’s 
apron ; baker’s paper cap. 

Tom Piper. — Gay vest and cloak ; knee breeches ; top-boots ; 
cocked hat with red plume. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

The above described costumes may be varied according to 
taste and circumstances. Any illustrated edition of Mother 
Goose’s melodies will suggest appropriate costumes, etc., to the 
ingenious manager. Music adapted to most of the verses here 
introduced may be found in “ Mother Goose’s Rhymes and 
Songs,” set to music by J. W. Elliott. 


40 


THE CHINESE DAMSEL. 



Adapted from Miss Yonge. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Lucy, a little English girl. 

Ba-bee, the Chinese damsel. 

Ki-hi, Ba-bee ' s maid. 


Scene. — A Chinese sitting room. A low table, on one 
side of which sits Lucy ; on the other , Ba-bee, both 
facing the audience. 

[ Enter Ki-hi with dainty tea-cups and saucers. Into 
each cup she puts a ball of tea-leaves and pours 
hot water. 

Ba-bee. Ki-hi, is tea ready? 


THE CHINESE DAMSEL. 


41 


Ki-hi. Yes, mistress. 

[Ki-hi sets cups on a tray of lacquer -work, and hands 
it to Lucy. Ba-bee languidly fans herself. 

Lucy. Thank you. [A pause of a few seconds .] 

Ba-bee. Is it not good ? 

Lucy. It must be ! You are the real tea people, 
but I was waiting for sugar and milk. 

Ba-bee. That would spoil it ; only outer barbari- 
ans would think of such a thing. And, ah ! [looking 
at Lucy's feet ] I see you are one ! See, Ivi-lii, what 
monstrous feet ! 

Lucy. They are not bigger than your maid’s. 
Why are your’s so small ? 

Ba-bee. Because my mother and nurse took care 
of me when I was a baby, and bound them up so 
that they might not grow big and ugly. 

Lucy. But should n’t ;fou like to walk without 
almost tumbling down ? 

Ba-bee. No, indeed ! Me, a daughter of a man- 
darin of the blue button ! You are a mere barba- 
rian to think a lady ought to walk. Do you not see 
that I never do anything? 

Ki-hi. Look at her lovely nails. 

Lucy. I think they are claws; do you never 
break them ? 

Ba-bee. No ; when they are a little longer I shall 
wear silver shields for them as my mother does. 

Lucy. And do you really never work ? 

Ba-bee. [, Scornfully ] I should think not ! I leave 
that to the common folk, who are obliged to work. 


42 


THE CHINESE DAMSEL. 


Come with me, and take a peep through the 
lattice, that you may see my father is far above 
making his daughter work. [Ba-bee is supported 
by Ki-hi ; they go to one side and gaze out. 

Lucy. Is that sleepy-looking, yellow man your 
father ? 

Ba-bee. Yes. There he sits, with his mustaehios 
hanging down to his chin and his tail to his heels, 
and the blue dragon embroidered on his breast, 
watching while they prepare the hall for dinner. 

Lucy. Oh ! how funny he looks. 

Ba-bee. For dinner there will be a stew of puppy 
dog, and another of kittens, and bird’s-nest soup. 

Ki-hi. And then the players will come and act a 
part of the nine-nights’ tragedy, and we shall look 
on through the lattice. 

Ba-bee. Ah ! father i£ smoking opium, that he 
may be serene and in good spirits. 

Lucy. The smoke makes my head ache. 

Ba-bee. Ah, that is because you are a mere outer 
barbarian. Now, Ki-hi, I am exhausted; lead me 
out to the sofa. [Exit Ba-bee leaning on Ki-hi, 
and fanning herself lazily. 

Lucy. How odd it all seems! What a languid 
creature she is. “Now, Ki-hi, I am exhausted.” 
[Imitates the manner of Ba-bee] Oh, I ’m glad I ’m 
not a Chinese damsel. I wonder how bird’s-nest 
soup will taste ! — and stewed puppy. Oh, dear, 
what food. [Re-enter Ki-hi. 

Ki-hi. Will barbarian lean-ee on Ki-hi? 


THE CHINESE DAMSEL. 


43 


Lucy. “ Lean-ee on Ki-hi ! ” [ Laughing ] No indeed ! 
Wo English girls know how to walk alone. Show 
me the way, Ki-hi, and I will lean-ee on myself. 

[ Exeunt . 


COSTUMES. 


Ba-bee should he attired in rich garments of oriental style. 
See picture, page 40; also the illustrations painted on 
Japanese fans. The hair should be combed back tight, and 
fastened with pins and ornaments. 

Ki-hi. — Similar to Ba-bee, but not so elegant. 

Lucy. — Pretty visiting suit for little girl. 


PROPERTIES. 

Table; stools; tea-cups and saucers; Chinese fans, vases, 
screens, and lanterns. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

The success of this piece will depend much upon the novelty 
of the costumes. The etfect, may be heightened by furnishing 
the stage with some articles suggestive of China, such as vases, 
gay paper lanterns, and screens. 


44 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 



a Hp t > 1e Beards 


From Parlor Plays for Parlor Actors. 

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Bruin. — An elderly bear , husband of Bruina. 
Bruina. — An ursine lady , wife of Bruin. 
Brunetti. — The son of Bruin and Bruina. 
Little Silver Hair. 


Scene I: — A wooded country. Lively music. Enter 
Little Silver Hair, chasing a butterfly. 

Silver H. The butterfly’s a gentleman, they say; 

If so, why does he want to get away? 

I ’m sure I do not mean him any harm. 
[Wipes face with her handkerchief. 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 


45 


Ah me ! but running thus does make one 
warm. 

[The butterfly rests on a flower. Silver 
Hair tries to capture it, but it flies. 

There ; go your way, you naughty thing. 
Ho more 

I ’ll follow you. I saw, I ’m sure, a score 

Much prettier ones than you. 

[She plucks a flower. 

Oh, what a rose ! 

A pretty wild rose, too ! The forest grows 

More flowers than — But see, the clouds 
look black ; 

’Tis almost time I thought of getting 
back. 

[A few drops of rain fall. She throws her 
skirt over her head and runs out. 

Scene II: — The interior of a cottage. A table is laid 
for breakfast , with three basins of porridge, and 
beside each a spoon. A sofa in one corner. Enter 
Silver Hair, with her skirt over her head. She 
looks about as if surprised. 

Silver H. What ! Ho one here ! the doors all open, 
too ! 

Well, I must stop, for I ’m wet through 
and through ; 

And I must hope the owners will not 
mind; 

Most folks to little me are always kind. 


46 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 


[Goes to the table , and examines the basins, 
sticking a spoon upright in each. 

This steaming porridge whets the appe- 
tite. 

Would it, I wonder, he considered right, 

If I sat down and had my breakfast here? 

I’ve not had it at home; and, dear, oh 
dear, 

I ’m sadly tempted by this savory mess. 

[ Takes a spoonful from smallest plate. 

’T is really very nice, I must confess; 

The people living here, I ’m bound to say, 

Have got with them a very pleasant way. 

[She finishes the basin of porridge , then 
sits on a stool; but the legs giving way , 
she jumps up to avoid falling. 

Well, well, I very nearly had a tumble; 

But still, I feel so pleased, I must not 
grumble. [She goes to the sofa. 

How, I ’ll lie down until the rain is done ; 

I think to-day I ’ve had a deal of fun. 

[Lies on sofa , draws a shawl over her , and 
falls asleep. Enter the Three Bears. 

Bruin. [Puffing and wiping his forehead'] 

Come now, good people, make a little 
haste ; 

I want my breakfast, sadly. There do n’t 
waste 

The time ; be quick, you there, be quick, 
I say. 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 


47 


Bruina. 


Brunetti. 


Bruin. 


Bruina. 


Bruin. 

Brunetti. 


Bruin. 


A moment, dear, do n’t be impatient, 
pray. 

[ Unties Brunetti' s comfortor , lie bellowing. 

I am so hungry. Oh, my dearest mother, 

Pray haste and give me something or 
another. 

[Sits down at table , puts on spectacles ] 

Hallo ! what ’s this ? whoever has been 
here ? 

Upon my word, all this is very queer. 

[ Puts aside her bonnet , and sits down ] 

For me, I really can not understand. 

It seems as if there’s something under- 
hand 

That we have not found out ; I must say 
that. 

[ Angrily ] They ’d best look out ; I ’ll 
teach them what is what. 

[. Seated opposite , begins to blubber ] 

Bo, ho, ho! my porridge is all gone; oh, 
dear ! 

I ’m starving, mother, oh ! I greatly fear. 

[tffarte up'] 

Who cares for what you fear? I’ll soon 
find out 

Who has been playing tricks. Ha ! 
Look ! No doubt 

We ’ve got the thief. See there ! 

[Pointing to Silver Hair, who starts up] 
Now, if I don't 


48 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 


Make that young lady pay. 

[Angrily, as though somebody doubted liim\ 
You think I won’t? 

[ Takes up a switch , and goes over to the 
sofa in a threatening manner. Silver 
Hair looks frightened, then starts up 
and runs out of the cottage. 

Bruin. I must declare all this seems very odd; 

If I had caught her, I ’d have used the 
rod. 

Bruina. To have one’s breakfast eaten up ’s a 
shame, 

And my poor son is not so much to 
blame, 

That he takes it to heart so much, I’m 
sure ; 

’T is more than ursine nature can endure. 

Ah ! well, she was a pretty little maid ; 

And I am sure, when all is done and 
said, [ To Brunetti. 

’T was after you she came to look, my 
dear. 

Brunetti. How, do you think so, mother? Well ’t is 
queer. 

[He admires himself in the glass, rubs his 
face complacently, and wags his head ] 

Well, in a crowd, I’d make no doubt 
you’d spy 

A dozen chaps who look much worse 
than I. 


LITTLE SILVER HAIR. 


49 


Bruin. I was a little hasty, I must say ; 

But may be she will come another day. 
We ’ll go out now and finish up our 
walk; 

Of what is past it is no use to talk. 
Tableau. Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

Bruin. — Breeches and top-boots; a loose coat, and flowered 
waistcoat. On his face a mask to represent a bear’s head. 
His figure may be stuffed out to make it look bearish. 
Bruina. — Bear’s mask, and a dashing, fashionable dress. 
Brunetti. — Bear’s mask, and a stylish boy’s suit. 

Little Silver Hair. — Usual outfit of a little girl. 

PROPERTIES. 

Some bushes and flowers ; an artificial butterfly ; a handker- 
chief; a table with cloth and three porridge bowls and spoons; 
a sofa; a stool; a shawl; a pair of spectacles; a whip; three 
chairs; a looking-glass. 


SUGGESTIONS. 

The effect intended in the first scene can be produced by 
dotting the stage with green branches and clumps of artificial 
flow-ers; the butterfly can be managed by fluttering an arti- 
ficial one tied to a thread, hanging from the end of a slender 
rod of whalebone; the sound of rain may be imitated by roll- 
ing peas over some smooth surface, such as a tin waiter or a 
bread-board; masks representing the heads of animals may be 
bought at any large city. 


s. T. 5. 


50 


A CHAMPION, THOUGH NO FIGHTER. 


v ' 



^ CHAMPION, THOUGH 

NO FIGHTER. 



Dramatized from Maria McIntosh. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

James Thorne. Nelson Barton. 

Frederic Stanley. Arthur Macon. 

William Spencer. 


Scene : — A play-ground. Boys 
playing ball ; a town clock 
strikes four; William Spen- 
cer drops his bat and picks 
up his satchel. 

Nelson. What are you going to do, William? 

William. Going home. Uncle Thorne told me I 
must not stay a minute longer than an hour after 
school. 

James. What ’s that you say, sir, about going home ? 

William. Cousin James, it ’s four o’clock, and you 
know what your father said. 

James. Well, my father didn’t say we must come 
home at four o’clock, did he? 

William. No ; but he said we must come home in 
one hour, and you know school was' out at three 
to-day. 


A CHAMPION, THOUGH NO FIGHTER. 51 

James. And how is ho to know that school let 
out at three to-day, unless you tell him ? 

William. He will ask me, I am sure he will. 

[ Looks up at the clock uneasily. 

James. Well, if he does ask you, can’t you say 
you don’t know? I am sure I don’t, for I have 
heard my father say a hundred times that that 
clock is no guide. 

William. Oh, cousin James, do let me go. Your 
father will whip me with that great whip, and I 
can’t tell a story — indeed I can’t. 

[ Boys gather round. 

James. And do you mean to say, sir, that I tell 
stories ? You are a liar yourself, if you do ; and now, 
sir, if you dare to move a single step till I give you 
leave, I ’ll give you a worse thrashing with my hat 
than ever my father did with his whip, so now go, if 
you dai;e. [James moves away. 

William. \_In great distress ] Oh, what shall I do — 
what shall I do? 

Frederic. Do what is right, William ; if you 
promised your uncle to go home, go. [William 
looks gratefully at Frederic and turns to go. 

James. [Bushing hack and seizing William] You 
shall not stir a step, sir, I tell you. 

Frederic. James, let him go; if you keep him 
here against his will, I will go myself to your father 
and tell him the whole affair. William shall not he 
whipped without any fault of his own. 

James. What business is it of yours, sir? 


52 A CHAMPION, THOUGH NO FIGHTER. 

Frederic. It is every body’s business to keep a 
poor little boy, who is too weak to fight his own 
battles, from being ill-treated. 

James. „ So you mean to fight his battles, do you ? 
Yery well, sir, I am ready to fight yon. 

[Steps up to Frederic, turning back his cuffs. 

Boys. Eun, William, run. 

[William runs off ; Frederic intercepts Thorne. 

James. [. Enraged ] Do you mean to fight me, sir ? 

Frederic. No, Thorne, you know I will not fight 
you. 

James. You ’re a cowardly, sneaking — 

Frederic. If I had been afraid of you, Thorne, I 
would not have taken poor William’s part. 

James. I ’ll knock you down, sir. 

[Raising his bat ; Frederic holds his arm. 

Frederic. That ’s easier said than done. [Thorne 
raises the other arm threateningly — it is also seized; he 
attempts to kick , when Frederic trips him , and lays him 
down gently at full length ] Now, Thorne, you see it 
is of no use to attack me ; but I do not wish to hurt 
you, and if you will promise to be quiet, you shall 
get up. Will you promise? 

James. [ Sulkily ] Yes. 

Frederic. William is at home by this time; and 
when your passion is over, instead of being angry 
with me, you will feel very glad that I did not let 
you strike him. 

[Thorne walks out of the yard angrily . 

Boys. That was well done, Stanley. 


A CHAMPION, THOUGH NO FIGHTER. 53 

Arthur. Yes, Fred, that was well done; but sup- 
pose Thorne had been the strongest — what would 
you have done then? 

Frederic. Why, if neither of you had been will- 
ing to help me, I must then have taken his blows ; 
they would probably have been no worse than I 
should, in that case, have got by fighting him. 

Arthur. But in fighting you would have had the 
comfort of knowing that you gave him some. 

Frederic. The comfort of knowing that I had 
done wrong ? Sorry comfort, Arthur. 

Nelson. And would you just have stayed quietly, 
and let that boy beat you, if you had not had 
strength enough to ward off his blows ? 

Frederic. No, Nelson, I should not have stayed 
quietly. If I could not have kept off his blows, I 
should certainly have tried to return them; that, 
you know, would have been very different from a 
regular fight. My father says, when another person 
attacks you, it is self-defense to do what you can 
to keep him from hurting you, and self-defense is 
always right. 

Arthur. Why, Fred, you talk like a lawyer. Do 
you mean to be one ? 

Frederic. Be a lawyer ! Oh, no. 

Arthur. What then? 

Frederic. I do not know yet, I have not quite 
made up my mind ; but either a soldier or a sailor. 

Nelson. Whew-w-w! [ Whistling ] A soldier or a 
sailor, and not fight. 


54 


A CHAMPION, THOUGH NO FIGHTER. 


Frederic. Not fight, Nelson, without good reason ; 
not fight unless I feel that it is right — that some 
good object is to be gained by it. Soldiers aiid 
sailors fight to defend their country, and that is a 
good reason. 

Arthur. Fred, I tell you, you should be a lawyer. 

Frederic. And I tell you I won’t. 

Arthur. Well, if you go in the army or navy so 
will I, [ laughing ] if it ’s only to see how you get 
along without fighting. [ All going off'] So let me 
know when you have made up your mind which it 
is to be. [ Exeunt . 


A LIGHTER-BOY AT SCHOOL. 


65 



LIGHTER-BOY AT 

SCHOOL. 


Dramatized from Capt. Marry at. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Jacob Faithful, the lighter-hoy .. 
Dominie Dobiensis, a school-master. 
Mr. Knapps, an usher. 


i Scene: — An English charity- 
school in 1800. 


Dominie. The new boy will draw near. [Jacob 
comes forward ] Hast thou any friends, my lad ? 

Jacob. Ho. 

Dominie. What ! no relations on shore ? 

Jacob. I never was on shore before in my life. 

Dominie. Dost know that thou art a destitute 
orphan ? 

Jacob. What’s that? 

Dominie. That thou hast no father or mother? 

Jacob. Well, it’s no use crying; what’s done 
can’t be helped. 

Dominie. What is thy name? 

Jacob. Jacob Faithful. 

Dominie. Jacob Faithful, canst thou read? 

Jacob. No, I can’t ; I wish I could. 


56 


A LIGHTER-BOY AT SCHOOL. 


Dominie. A well-disposed answer, Jacob ; thy 
wishes shall be gratified. Knowest thou thine 
alphabet? 

Jacob. I do n’t know what that is. 

Dominie. Then thou knowest it not. Mr. Knapps 
shalt forthwith instruct thee. Thou shalt forthwith 
go to Mr. Knapps who inculcateth the rudiments. 
Levior puer , lighter-boy, thou hast a crafty look. 
[ Chuckles ] My little naviculator, thou art a weed 
washed on shore, one of father Thames’s cast up 
wrecks. Fluviorum rex Eridanus. [ Chuckles ] To 
thy studies, be thyself — that is, be Faithful. Mr. 
Knapps, let the Cadmean art proceed forthwith. 
[Takes a pinch of snuff. Jacob goes to Mr. Knapps. 

Knapps. What is that, boy ? [Points to book. 

Jacob. [After staring some time ] That ’s half a 
bushel. 

Knapps. Half a bushel ! you ’re more than half 
fool. That’s the letter A. 

Jacob. No ; it ’s half a bushel ; father told me so. 

Knapps. Then your father was as big a fool as 
yourself. 

Jacob. [ Doggedly ] Father knew what a half a 
bushel was, and so do I ; that ’s half a bushel. 

Knapps. [In a rage ] I tell you it ’s the letter A. 

Jacob. It’s half a bushel. 

Knapps. [To Dominie] I can do nothing with 
this boy, sir. He denies the first letter in the 
alphabet, and insists upon it that the letter A is not 
A, but half a bushel. 


A LIGHTER-BOY AT SCHOOL. 


57 


Dominie. Dost thou, in thine ignorance, pretend 
to teach, when thou comest here to learn, Jacob 
Faithful? 

Jacob. Father always told me that that thing 
there meant half a bushel. 

Dominie. Thy father might, perhaps, have used 
that letter to signify the measure which thou speak- 
est of, in the same way as I, in my mathematics, 
use divers letters for known and unknown quan- 
tities ; but thou must forget that which thy father 
taught thee, and commence de novo. Dost thou 
understand ? 

Jacob. No, I do n’t. 

Dominie. Then, little Jacob, that represents the 
letter A, and whatever else Mr. Knapps tells thee 
thou wilt believe. Why art thou contumelious? 
Thine head is good, yet wilt thou refuse learning? 
Tell me now, what does c-a-t spell ? 

Jacob. [ Promptly ] Cat head. 

Dominie. Nay, Jacob, it spells cat, take care of 
thy head on thy next reply. Understand me, head 
is not understood. Jacob, thy head is in jeopardy. 
Now, Jacob, what does m-a-t spell ? 

Jacob. Chafing mat. 

Dominie. It spells mat only, silly boy; the chaf- 
ing will be on my part directly. Now, Jacob, what 
does d-o-g spell ? 

Jacob. Dog-kennel. 

Dominie. Dog, Jacob, without the kennel. Thou 
art very contumelious, and deservest to be rolled in 


58 


A LIGHTER-BOY AT SCHOOL. 


the kennel. Now, Jacob, this is the last time that 
thou triflest with me, what does h-a-t spell ? 

Jacob. [After hesitation ] Fur-cap. 

Dominie. Jacob, I feel the wrath rising within 
me, yet would I fain spare thee ; if h-a-t spells fur- 
cap, pray advise me what doth c-a-p spell, then ? 
Jacob. Capstan. 

Dominie. Indeed, Jacob, and I suppose, then, 
that w-i-n-d spells windlass, does it not? 

Jacob. [Gratified~\ Yes, sir. 

Dominie. Upon the same principle, what does 
r-a-t spell? 

Jacob. Eat, sir. 

Dominie. Nay, Jacob, r-a-t must spell rattan , and 
as thou hast missed thine own mode of spelling, 
thou shalt not miss the cane. [Exeunt. 

COSTUMES. 

Dominie. — Square-cut coat with long tails; long-flapped waist- 
coat; knee-breeches; black stockings; shoes with buckles; 
bag-wig; florid face. 

Mr. KNArrs. — Very tight pantaloons; black, loose coat; light 
hair, oiled sleek; pale face. 

Jacob. — As represented in the illustration, page 55. 


LAZY LAWRENCE. 


59 



AZY LAWKENCE. 


Lazy Lawrence. 


Adapted from Maria Edgeworth. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Jem Preston. 


Scene: — An open place. Lawrence lying upon the 
ground half asleep. Enter Jem, whistling and 
walking briskly. 

Jem. What, Lawrence, are you asleep? 

Lawrence. [Drowsily ] Not quite. 

Jem. Are you awake? 

Law. Not quite. 

Jem. What are you doing there? 

Law. Nothing. 

Jem. What are you thinking of? 

Law. Nothing. 

Jem. What makes you lie there? 

Law. I do n't know. 

Jem. Why don’t you play? 

Law. I ’m tired. 

Jem. Tired of what? 

Law. I don’t know well what tires me; grand- 
mother says I ’m sick, and I must take something — I 
do n’t know what ails me. [ Rises slowly and yawns. 


60 


LAZY LAWRENCE. 


Jem. Oh, pshaw ! Take a good race ; one, two, 
three, and away, and you ’ll find yourself as well as 
ever. Come, run; one, two, three, and away. 

Law. [. Hanging back'] No, I can’t run, indeed. 
[ Yawning] You know I can play all day long if I 
like it, so I do n’t care for play as you do who only 
have one hour for it. 

Jem. So much the worse for you. [ Turning a 
hand-spring or summersault] Come, let’s have a game 
of ball, do. 

Law. No, I tell you, I can’t. [ Sits down , hugging 
his knees] I ’m as tired as if I ’d been working all 
day long as hard as a horse. 

Jem. Ten times more, for I ’ve been working all 
day long as hard as a horse, and yet you see I ’m 
not a bit tired. 

[ During this speech Jem keeps tossing his ball and 
catching it. 

Law. That’s very odd. [ Yawns, then leaning on 
his elbow puts his hand in his pocket and takes out 
several coins] See what I got from father to-day 
because I asked him just at the right time. I can 
get any thing I want out of him then. See, one cent, 
three cents, five cents, one cent ; ten cents in all ; 
wouldn’t you be happy if you had ten cents? 

[ Jingles the money in his hand. 

Jem. [ Laughing ] Why, I do n’t know, for you 
do n’t seem happy, and you have ten cents. 

Law. That does not signify, though I ’m sure you 
only say that because you envy me. You do n’t 


LAZY LAWRENCE. 


61 


know what it is to have ten cents. You never had 
more than a nickel at a time in your life. 

Jem. Oh, as to that, you are mistaken, for I have 
at this very time more than ten cents or twenty-five 
cents. I have in all a dollar and a half. 

Law. [Again rising to his feet ] You haven’t! 
have you indeed? how did you get it? honestly? 

Jem. Honestly? to he sure I did. I earned it 
all. 

Law. Bless me ! earned it ! Well, I ’ve a great 
mind to work. [Yawns~\ But, then, it’s such hot 
weather. Besides, grandmother says I ’m not strong 
enough yet for hard work ; and, besides, I know how 
to coax daddy out of money when I want it. But 
— a dollar and a half! what will you do with it all? 

Jem. That ’s a secret. 

Law . I can guess. I know what I ’d do with it 
if it was mine. First I ’d buy pocketfuls of ginger- 
bread ; then I ’d buy ever so many apples and nuts. 
Do n’t you like hickory nuts ? I ’d buy hickory nuts 
enough to last me from this time to Christmas, and 
I ’d make little Newton crack them for me, for that’s 
the worst of hickory nuts, there ’s the trouble of 
cracking them. 

Jem. Well, you never deserve to have even a 
pea-nut. 

Law. [In a fawning tone ] But, Jem, you ’ll give 
me some of your goodies when you buy them, won’t 
you? 

Jem. I shall not buy any goodies. 


62 


LAZY LAWRENCE. 


Law. Then what will you do with all your 
money ? 

Jem. As I told you, that ’s a secret, and I sha’n’t 
tell it to any body. But come, let’s go and play. 

[He runs out. 

Law. [Looks after Jem, then yawns, and slowly 
follows , saying ] A dollar and a half. My ! I wish 
I had a dollar and a half. 

COSTUMES. 

Jem. — Boy’s ordinary attire, neat and clean. 

Lawrence. — Shabby pants, long-tailed coat, and slouched hat. 
The whole costume should be soiled, and slovenly in its 
appearance. 


PROPERTIES. 

A bat and base-ball, and a pocket-book containing some 
pieces of money. 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


63 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Rosabel, an orphan girl. 

The Stepmother of Rosabel. 
Julia Matilda, the stepmoth- 
er's daughter. 

Titania, the Fairy Queen. 

Puck and Fairies. 


IAMONDS AND 

TOADS. 


From Mrs. Valentine's Games 
for Children. 


Scene : — A well. Enter Rosabel, who sets down her 
pitcher. 

Rosabel. I ’ll rest awhile hero ; the red setting sun 
Tells bird and bee the daily task is done. 
So is not mine. When my stepdame re- 
turns, 

She ’ll find fresh work for me; no peasant 
earns 

His brown bread half so hardly as do I, 
Once the spoiled darling of the family. 


64 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


Oh, mother ! mother ! when you died you 
left 

Your daughter doubly orphaned, being 
reft 

At once of you and of her father’s love. 

[Pause. 

A lonely child, unblest through life I rove. 

My sister is adorned like any queen 

Of May-day or of Whitsuntide, I ween ; 

I am so poorly clad, I shun the eye 

And scornful pity of the passer-by ; 

She lives on cates and dainties ; I am fed 

With kraut and morsels of the stalest 
bread ; 

She spends her time in one glad holiday; 

Scarcely the Sundays do my labors stay. 

It boots not murmuring. I ’ll slumber 
here 

Where mother nature gives me kindly 
cheer, 

And, lulled to rest by murmuring branches 
green, 

Find happiness in some benignant dream. 

[Kosabel sleeps. Soft music. Titania, the 
Fairy Queen, enters and waves her 
wand. 

Titania. Sleep, sleep, still and deep, 

Thy gentle eyelids steep. 

Fairies, come from our home and sing, 

Dancing round in a fairy ring, 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


65 


Fairies. 


Rosabel. 


Titania. 


Rosabel. 


Titania. 


Fairies, come and sing. [ Enter Fairies. 

We Ve found her! we Ve found her ! 

[They dance round Bosabel a few moments , 
then one of them fills her pitcher from 
the well. Puck tickles her cheek with a 
feather and she wakes. Exeunt Fairies. 

What a sweet dream! I saw such tiny 
creatures, 

With fairy forms, and little doll-like 
features. 

Heigh-ho ! the sun is set. 

[Enter Titania as an old woman. 

Maiden, well met! 

A tired and aged pilgrim, gentle daughter, 

Craves at your hand a draught of longed- 
for water. 

[Rosabel finds her pitcher full. 

Oh ! what is this ? my pitcher to the brim 

Is full of water; there was none within 

When I came hither; surely, some kind 
fay 

Has filled it for me, and then flown away. 

But drink, good mother ! 

[She holds the pitcher for the old woman. 

Were it Rhenish wine, 

It should as willingly — trust me — he thine. 

[Old Woman drinks and is suddenly trans- 
formed into the Fairy Queen. 

Because that thou hast given of thy best, 

And that thy gentle nature is confessed — 


66 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


By a courteous word and a kindly smile, 
List what I ’ll give you to keep the while. 
Every time that you speak, my dear, 
Whether alone or when men are near, 
There shall drop from your lips a pure, 
white pearl, 

Or a precious diamond, like you, sweet 
girl. 

For the fairies who haunt this forest dell 
Thus dower their favorite Bosabel. 

kisses Bosabel and exit. Enter Step- 
mother. 

Mother. You tiresome, lazy creature ! 

Why are you idling here ? 

Rosabel. Mother, all my work is done, 

And I was — Oh, dear! oh, dear! 

[ Drops a pearl from her lips. 
Mother. What ’s this ? A very precious pearl ! 

Where did you steal it, you bad girl ? 
Rosabel. I did not steal it. [ Drops a diamond. 

Mother. Here ’s another. 

No, it’s a diamond. Whence is this? 
Rosabel. I speak them, and shall always, mother ; 
The Fairy gave them with a kiss. 

[ Drops jewels. 

Mother. Oh, my darling ! you sweet little treasure ! 

Then, if you speak much, you ’ll soon fill a 
measure 

With the rarest jewels. Come home now, 
my dear, 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


67 


But first pick up those that have fallen 
here ; 

And hush ! 

[ Puts her hand on Bosabel’s lips. 

Not another word, I implore, 

Until we enter our own cottage door. 

[ Exeunt . 

[A musical interlude, after which re-enter 
Stepmother, pulling in her own daugh- 
ter. 

Julia. But, mamma, I do n’t choose to sit alone 

In this dismal place, on that dirty stone; 

’T will spoil my dress. As to drawing 
water, 

I hope you know that’s beneath your 
daughter. 

[ Tossing her head and strutting about . 

Mother. Yes! since the well is remarkably deep — 

I strongly advise you to feign a sleep. 

Julia. A sleep ! oh, mamma, you ’re surely insane ! 

I can’t and I won’t alone here remain. 

You may beg and pray — it will all be in 
vain. 

Mother. You rude, disobedient, ungrateful girl ! 

(If I only dared tell her about the pearl) 

[Aside. 

You must and shall, maiden — so sit down, 

I pray, 

And see what will happen when I go away. 

[Looks about cautiously and exit. 


68 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


Julia. [ Yawning ] Well, really, I think, in the 

present day, 

Elderly people are very ill-bred. 

Obliged to sit here till I go to bed ! 

If I must, I think I ’ll take a short snooze ; 
It ’s the only advice I won’t refuse. 
[Daintily covers the stone with her handker- 
chief, and sleeps. Music. Enter Fairies, 
who dance grotesquely , grimace at her , 
pinch her, and exeunt. She wakes. 
Enter Titania as Old Woman. 
Titania. The finest lady I ever have seen ! 

What an immense extent of crinoline ! 

Oh, Fraulein fair, will you deign to bestow 
A drop of cold water on one whose woe 
At present is, she vainly longs to drink 
A good draught from the fountain’s limpid 
brink ? 

Julia. I think, old woman, you are over bold ; 

By whom, I pray, were you ever told, 
That Julia Matilda Yon Gardenrink 
Was wont to give to beggars their drink. 
Hence ! and do n’t touch me, you dirty old 
thing, 

Or at you this fan I surely will fling. 

[The Old Woman is suddenly transformed 
into Fairy Queen. 

When next you speak, let fall 
Toads great and small 

At every word ! 


Titania. 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


69 


Such a rude girl, 

Merits no pearl. 

Your doom is heard. [ Vanishes . 
[Stepmother rushes in, followed by Eosabel. 
Mother. Well, my own sweet ! speak, my beloved 
child ! 

Julia. Mother! [Lets fall a toad] Oh! 

Mother. What ’s this ? what ’s this ? I shall go wild ! 
An ugly, loathsome toad — alas the spell 
Works wrong ! Why did I send her to the 
well? 

[Titania appears. She speaks , looking at 
Eosabel. 

Titania. Precious as the purest pearl 

Were thy kind words, gentle girl. 

Evil words, like toads, repel. [ To Julia. 

Go, each, and hear the fairy spell 
Justly wrought at this charmed well. 
Tableau. Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

Rosabel. — German peasant girl’s costume. See engraving. 
Stepmother. — Very gayly dressed in the fashion. 

Julia Matilda. — Absurdly fine, in the extreme of fashion, with 
flowers, feathers, etc., and a fan in her hand. 

Titania. — As Fairy Queen. — A short white tarlatan dress, 
looped up with ivy leaves ; a green wreath adorned with 
bright red berries in her hair, which should be long and 
light; wings; and a wand. 

As Old Woman. — A long, hooded waterproof cloak over her 
other costume. 


70 


DIAMONDS AND TOADS. 


The Female Fairies should be attired in different colored 
tarlatan, and wear wreaths of flowers. 

Puck and his brethren, are to be quaintly dressed in motley, 
with small red caps on their heads ; these caps are indis- 
pensable. 

PROPERTIES. 

A pitcher; a fairy wand; some beads to represent pearls and 
diamonds ; an artificial toad ; materials for the well-curb and 
surroundings; a quantity of evergreens. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

The well-curb may be made of a large tub or box, appropri- 
ately painted or papered, and surrounded by rocks, moss, and 
shrubbery. Titania’s wand may consist of a slender stick 
three-quarters of a yard long, covered with silver paper; the 
wings are made of gauze, illusion, or gilt paper, fastened upon 
frames of wire, shaped like the wing of a butterfly. In the 
transformation scene the cloak may be thrown off behind the 
well. The toad can be contrived of brown cloth, and stuffed 
with sand. It may be made to hop off the stage by means of an 
invisible wire or thread worked from above. 


TARLETON. 


71 


ARLETOK 

Dramatized from Maria Edgeworth. 

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Tarleton. Mr. Truman. 

Loveit. An Old Gentleman. 

Hardy. Five or Six Boys. 


Scene I : — A play -ground. Enter 
Tarleton, Loyeit, Hardy, 
and other hoys , some with bats 
in their hands. 

Tarleton. Well, what shall we do now? The ball 
has gone over the fence. I wish some one would get 
it. [. Looking significantly at Loyeit. 

Loveit. [. Hesitatingly ] But you know we are for- 
bidden to get over the fence into the old gentleman’s 
garden. 

Tarleton. Pugh ! now, what harm could it do ? 

Loveit. I do n’t know, but — [ Drumming on his hat. 

Tarleton. You do n’t know, man ! why, then, what 
are you afraid of, I ask you ? [. Insolently . 

Loveit. [ With some spirit ] I ’m not afraid of any 
thing that I know of. 

Hardy. [ Kindly ] Yes, but you are. 

Loveit. Am I ? of what, pray, am I afraid ? 

Hardy. Of doing wrong. 



72 


TARLETON. 


Tarleton. [Mimicking Hardy] Afraid of doing 
wrong ? How, had n’t you better say, afraid of being 
flogged ? [ The hoys laugh. 

Hardy. [ Coldly ] Ho, I ’m as little afraid of being 
flogged as you are, Tarleton ; but I mean — 

Tarleton. Ho matter what you meant; why 
should you interfere with your wisdom and your 
meanings! Hobody thought of asking you to stir a 
step for us ; but we asked Loveit, because he ’s the 
best fellow in the world. 

Hardy. And for that very reason you should not 
ask him. You know he can’t refuse you any thing. 

Loveit. [Piqued'] Indeed though, there’s where 
you ’re mistaken, for I could refuse if I chose it. 

[Stands balancing his hat on his finger. 

Tarleton. [Scornfully] Look at him ! — now do 
look at him !-^did you ever in your life see any body 
look so silly! Hardy has him quite under his 
thumb ; he ’s so mortally afraid of him, that he dare 
not turn either of his eyes from the tip of his nose ! 
Look how he squints ! 

Loveit. I do n’t squint, and nobody has me under 
his thumb ; and what Hardy said was only for fear 
I should get into disgrace — he’s the best friend I 
have. 

Hardy. Come along then. 

[Taking Loveit hy the arm and going. 

Tarleton. Ay, go along with its best friend, and 
take care it does not get into a scrape ; — good-bye, 
little Panado! 


TARLETON. 


73 


Loveit. Whom do they call little Panado ? 

Hardy. Never mind, what does it signify? 

Loveit.. No, to be sure it doesn’t signify; but one 
doesn’t like to be called little Panado; besides, 
they ’ll think me so ill-natured. I had better go 
back, — do come back with me. 

Hardy. No, I can’t go back, and you’d better 
not. [Exit. 

Loveit. I won’t stay a moment ; wait for me. 

[Returns to the hoys. 

Loveit. I ’m sorry, boys, that I can’t get the ball 
for you, but you know it ’s against rules. 

Tarleton. What ’s the difference ! you ’ll do no 
harm by just getting the ball, and you ’ll oblige us 
all very much. Come, that ’s a good fellow. 

Loveit. Well, to oblige you, here goes. [Exit. 

Tarleton. He ’s a regular cat’s paw, is n’t he ? 

ls£ Boy. Loveit is the best natured fellow in the 
world. 

2 d Boy. He ’s too good natured by half. 

Tarleton. Mum ! here he comes. 

[Enter Loveit out of breath. 

Loveit. Here, I got the ball ; and I ’ll tell you 
what I ’ve seen. 

Boys. What ? 

Loveit. Why, just on the other side of the gar- 
den — [Panting. 

Tarleton. [Lnpatiently'] Well, do go on! 

Loveit. Just let me take breath first ! 

Tarleton. Pugh ! never mind your breath. 

S. T. 7. 


74 


TARLETON. 


Loveit. Well, then, just on the other side of the 
garden I saw a tree full of fine, large, rosy apples; 
they made my mouth water. 

Tarleton. What do you say, boys, to having some 
of those fine, large, rosy apples before we sleep to- 
night 

Loveit. Oh, indeed ! as Hardy told me, I had 
better not have come back ! [Aside. 

Tarleton. But before I say any more, I hope we 
have no spies among us. If there is any among 
you afraid to be flogged, let him march off this 
instant. [A pause — no one sti?'s] Well, then, your 
word of honor that you won’t betray me. [Gives 
his hand to one of the hoys'] Stand by me and I ’ll 
stand by you. 

ls£ Boy. Stand by me and I ’ll stand by you. 

2 d Boy. [Giving his hand] Stand by me and I ’ll 
stand by you. 

[Each hoy gives his hand , repeating the same words. 

Loveit hesitates. 

Tarleton. Come, Loveit, lad, you ’re in for it ; 
stand by me and I ’ll stand by you. 

Loveit , [Much embarrassed] Indeed, Tarleton, I 
do wish you ’d give up this scheme. 

Tarleton. What scheme, man ? You have n’t heard 
it yet ; you may as well know your text before you 
begin preaching. Come, do pluck up a little spirit 
and be one of us, or you ’ll make us all hate you. 

Loveit. Hate me? Ho, surely you won’t hate me? 

[Puts out his hand, which Tarleton shakes violently. 


TARLETON. 


75 


Tarleton. Ay, now, that’s right. Come, boys, 
and I’ll explain my scheme. {Going. 

Boys. Three cheers for Captai n Tarleton . Hurrah ! 
hurrah ! hurrah ! 

{Exeunt tumultuously. Loyeit follows despondent. 

Scene II : — The same. Enter Tarleton, Loyeit, and 
two boys. 

Tarleton. Well, boys, shall we try it again to- 
night ? 

1st Boy. I do n’t go again ! I would n’t get into 
that dog’s jaws for all the apples on the tree! I 
felt morally certain last night that he ’d break his 
chain and tear us all to pieces. 

Tarleton. What! have you grown white livered 
too? You don’t want us to think you a coward? 

ls£ Boy. Coward ! You were the first to run your- 
self, Tarleton. If any body ’s going to call names, it 
need n’t be you ! 

Tarleton. That was last night, before we knew 
where or what the danger was. How that we do 
know, we ought to know how to meet it. 

Loveit. [ Complainingly\ Why could not you, any 
of you, stay one minute to help me when I called? 
Hid n’t you care if I was killed ? 

1st Boy. We did n’t hear you call. 

2d Boy. I was so frightened I would n’t have 
turned back for the whole world ! 

Loveit. And you, Tarleton ? 


76 


TARLETON. 


Tarleton. I ? Had I not enough to do to take care 
of myself, you blockhead? Every one for himself 
in this world. 

Loveit. f Gravely'] So I see. 

Tarleton. Well, man, is there any thing strange in 
that ? 

Loveit. Strange ! why yes ; I thought the agree- 
ment was, “You stand by me and I’ll stand by 
you.” 

Tarleton. Lord love you, lad ! so we do, but a 
fellow must stand by himself first. 

Loveit. [ Turning away] Hardy would not have 
served me so, however. 

Tarleton. Pugh ! [ Aside to the other hoys] Leave 
me alone with him, boys. If I do n’t talk him into 
a good humor he ’ll desert us. [ Exeunt hoys. To 
Loveit] What nonsense have you taken into your 
brain ! Think no more about it. I ’m sure I ’m very 
sorry, and beg pardon. Come, shake hands ; forgive 
and forget. 

Loveit. [ Giving his hand coldly] I forgive it with 
all my heart, but I can not forget it so soon. 

Tarleton. Why, then, you are not such a good 
natured fellow as we thought you were. Surely you 
can’t bear malice, Loveit? 

Loveit. [< Smiling ] Ho, I can’t bear malice, cer- 
tainly. 

Tarleton. Well, then, come. You know in reality 
we all like you, and would do any thing in the world 
for you. [Shaking Loveit heartily hythe hand] Loveit, 


TARLETON. 


77 


I ’ve something particular that I want to tell you. 

[Tarleton looks suspiciously around. 

Loveit. What is it? [Impatiently] There ’s nobody 
can hear. 

Tarleton. Come a little farther, however. 

[Takes Loveit by the arm and leads him to one side. 

Loveit. Well, now, well ? 

Tarleton. [ Confidentially ] You need not fear the 
dog that frightened us last night. I ’ll take care it ’ll 
never frighten us again. 

Loveit. Won’t it? how so? 

Tarleton. Look here ! 

[Drawing from his pocket a piece of meat wrapped in a 
handkerchief. 

Loveit. What’s that? 

Tarleton. [ Unwrapping the meat ] Eaw meat. 

Loveit. And is it for the dog ? 

Tarleton. Yes ! I vowed I ’d be revenged on him, 
and after this he ’ll never bark again. 

Loveit. [Looking with horror at Tarleton] Never 
bark again ! what do you mean? Is it poison? 

Tarleton. Only poison for a dog. You could not 
look more shocked if it was poison for a Christian. 

Loveit. [Looks at Tarleton a moment in profound 
silence ] Tarleton, I did not know you. I will have 
nothing more to do with you. [Going. 

Tarleton. Oh, pshaw! stop! stop! I was only 
joking. [Takes Loveit’s arm. 

Loveit. Let go my arm, you were in earnest. 

Tarleton. But then that was before I knew there 


78 


TARLETON. 


was any harm in it. If you think there ’s any 
harm — 

Loveit. If! 

Tarleton. Why you see I might not know, for 
Tom the porter tells me it ’s a thing that ’s often 
done; ask him. 

Loveit. I ’ll ask nobody ! Surely we know better 
than Tom does what ’s right and wrong. 

Tarleton. But only just ask him, to hear what 
he ’ll say. 

Loveit. I do n’t want to hear what he ’ll say ! 
[ Vehemently ] The dog will die in agonies — in horrid 
agonies ! There was a dog poisoned at my father’s, 
I saw him in the yard. Poor creature ! he lay, and 
howled, and writhed ! 

Tarleton. [Pretending sympathy ] Poor creature ! 
Well, there’s no harm done now. Hardy] 

Lord! I hope that chap didn’t hear. [Aside. 

Hardy. Hallo, Loveit, I ’ve found you at last. 
Good morning, Tarleton. I ’m through with my 
work now, old fellow, and will talk over the hunting 
excursion. I’ve a letter here from Joe. 

[Feels in his pockets. 

Tarleton. [Pulling Loveit aside, with a menacing 
gesture ] Keep dark. [Exit Tarleton. 

Hardy. Hold on, Tarleton, do n’t go away. We ’ve 
no secrets. 

Tarleton. [ Without ] I have an engagement to 
keep. 

Loveit. How cruel, how wicked ! 


TARLETON. 


79 


Hardy. What ’s cruel, what ’s wicked ? 

Lovett. [Confused] Oh, Hardy, beg pardon! I 
did n’t think what I was saying. 

Hardy. [ Incredulously ] How, Loveit, you would n’t 
try to deceive me, would you ? What is it ? I know 
you fellows are up to mischief, I heard Tarleton say, 
just as I came up, “ There ’s no harm done now.” 
What did he mean ? 

Lovett. They ’ll never forgive me if I tell. 

Hardy. [ Coldly ] Well, choose your friends. 

Lovett. [ Still more agitated ] Hardy, you are my 
best friend, and I ’ll tell you, even at the risk of 
making enemies. Tarleton means to poison old Mr. 
Thompson’s dog to-night. 

Hardy. I guessed as much. But Tarleton’s plans 
will fail. 

Lovett. [In great anxiety ] Why? what are you 
going to do? They’ll never forgive me! don’t 
betray me ! Only say you won’t betray me. 

Hardy. I will not betray you ; trust to me. 
Come, let us go to supper. [Exeunt. 

Scene III : — Hardy and Loveit’s room ; a table with 
books and a lamp ; two chairs ; Loveit walking 
about in an anxious manner. 

Loveit. I do wish Hardy would come back. He ’ll 
get into trouble, I ’m sure. And I ’m to blame. It ’s 
almost midnight now. What a load of trouble my 
obliging disposition has brought upon all ! I wish I 
could learn to say Ho when I ought to. I ’ve tried to 


80 


TARLETON. 


please every body and have pleased nobody. Hark ! 
he ’s coming. [ Enter Hardy briskly. 

Zoveit. Oh, Hardy ! I’m so glad you ’ve got back 
safe ! Tell me what happened. 

Hardy. [ Laughing ] Well, I ’ve fought two smart 
battles, and fled from my own victory. 

Zoveit. Have you? How? Tell me all about it. 

Hardy. Well, let ’s sit down and take it easy. 
I’m a little tired. [ They sft] You know we saw 
Tarleton slip out about eleven o’clock and climb into 
the lane? 

Zoveit. Yes. 

Hardy. I hurried after him. When I got into the 
lane I saw him in the garden sneaking up toward the 
tree where the dog is tied. You know the place ? 

Zoveit. I should think I do ! 

Hardy. Well, I ran with all my might, and just 
before we came up to the tree I caught him. You 
never saw a fellow more surprised and angry. He 
fairly gritted his teeth. “ What do you want?” said 
he. “ I want the poisoned meat that you have in 
your pocket,” said I. “Who told you I had any 
such thing ?” he asked. 

Zoveit. Did you tell ? 

Hardy. I said, “ Hever mind how I found out ; 
give up the meat.” “ I have n’t any,” said he ; “ I 
do n’t know what you mean.” “ Yes you do,” said 
I, and then I took him by the collar. We had a 
regular prize-fight. See here how he bit my finger. 
Pretty soon the old dog roused up, and began to 


TARLETON. 


81 


bark uproarously. Tarleton got the meat out of his 
pocket — it was tied up in a handkerchief— and slung 
it toward the dog, and then ran away as fast as he 
could. The dog snapped at the handkerchief, but I 
was bound to get it away from him. There was an 
old pitchfork lying by, and I got that and stuck it 
into the handkerchief. The dog pulled, tore, growled, 
and yelled. I could n’t get the handkerchief from 
his teeth, but it came untied, the meat dropped out, 
I stuck the fork into that, pulled it away, and then 
took myself ofi*, and here I am safe and sound. 
[ Knocking ] What’s that? Open the door, Loveit. 

[ They rise. Loveit goes to door. 

Loveit. May be it ’s Tarleton come to renew the 
fight. 

Hardy. I hope it is. 

[Loveit opens the door , starts hack frightened. Enter 
Mr. Truman. 

Mr. Truman. Well, young gentlemen, you are 
caught at last! Your midnight thieving is dis- 
covered. 

Hardy. Thieving ? 

Mr. Truman. Hardy, I want no pretense of inno- 
cence. You are detected. Will you please to do me 
the favor, sir, to empty your pockets? [Hardy 
obey s'] Heyday! meat? raw meat! what next? 

Hardy. That’s all. [Turning pockets inside out. 

Mr. Truman. That is all. [Taking up meat. 

Hardy. [Eagerly] Pray, sir, let that meat be 
burned. It is poisoned. 


82 


TARLETON. 


Mr. Truman. Poisoned ! [ Letting meat drop. 

Hardy. Sir, ever since I have been at school I 
never told a lie, and therefore I hope you will believe 
me now. Upon my word and honor, sir, I have done 
nothing wrong. 

Mr. Truman. Nothing wrong ! Is it right to go 
out at night without leave? 

Hardy. That, to be sure, was wrong ; but except 
that — 

Mr. Truman. I will except nothing. Young gen- 
tlemen, follow me. You will spend this night under 
lock and key. Your case will be investigated to- 
morrow. [ Exeunt . 

Scene IY : — A school-room ; Tarleton and other 
boys discovered. 

1$£ Boy. I ’m real sorry for Hardy. He ’s such 
an honorable fellow. 

2 d Boy. And poor Loveit. 

ls£ Boy. Just to think of those two sleeping in 
the Black Hole ! 

3 d Boy. I wonder if they ’ve told Mr. Truman. 

Tarleton. Of course they have ! 

1st Boy. I do n’t believe Hardy would tell. 

Tarleton. You do n’t think he ’s such a fool when 
he can get himself off? 

4th Boy. I hope they ’ve not told of me. But 
here comes Mr. Truman. 

[Enter Mr. Truman, followed by the Old Gentleman, 


TAREETON. 


83 


with a cane in one hand and a basket of apples in 
the other. The old man sits. 

Mr. Truman. [Striking a small bell] Young gentle- 
men, you will please be silent. [To one of the boys ] 
Allen, go to my room and tell Hardy and Loveit to 
come here. [Exit boy] Mr. Thompson, I think we 
shall have no difficulty in finding the guilty parties. 
[Enter Hardy, Loveit, and boy] Well, Hardy, what 
have you to say to me this morning ? 

Hardy. Nothing, sir; nothing hut what I said 
last night. 

Mr. Truman. [Taking a rattan in his hand] I find 
I have been deceived in you — it is but yesterday that 
I told your uncle I never had a boy in my school in 
whom I placed so much confidence; but after all 
this show of honor and integrity, the moment my 
back is turned you are the first to set an example of 
disobedience to my orders. Why do I talk of dis- 
obedience to my commands? — you are a thief! 

Hardy. I, sir ? [ With emotion. 

Mr. Truman. You, sir ! you and some others 
[Glancing arouyid] are thieves, and deserve nothing 
better than thieves’ punishment. I shall flog you. 

Hardy. [Indignantly] I am not a thief! I never 
had any thing to do with thieves ! 

Mr. Truman. Have you not robbed this old gentle- 
man’s orchard ? Do n’t you know the taste of these 
apples ? [ Taking one up. 

Hardy. No, sir, I do not! I never touched one 
of that old gentleman’s apples. 


84 


TARLETON. 


Mr. Truman. Never touched one of them ! I sup- 
pose this is some vile equivocation ; you have done 
worse ; you have had the barbarity, the baseness to 
attempt to poison his dog; the poisoned meat was. 
found in your pocket last night. 

Hardy. The poisoned meat was found in my 
pocket, sir ; but I never attempted to poison the dog ; 
I saved his life. 

Old Gentleman. Lord bless him ! 

Mr. Truman. No, Hardy ! you can not impose 
upon me. I have a proof you are not prepared for. 
[ Produces the torn handkerchief. Tarleton hangs his 
head ] Do n’t you know this handkerchief, sir? 

Hardy. I do, sir. 

Mr. Truman. Is it yours? 

Hardy. No, sir. 

Mr. Truman. Don’t you know whose it is? 
[Hardy is silent ] Now, gentlemen, I am not fond 
of punishing you ; but when I do it, you know it is 
always in earnest. I will begin with Hardy and 
flog you till this handkerchief is owned. 

ls£ Boy. I ’m sure it ’s not mine. 

Others. It’s not mine. 

[Mr. Truman raises the rattan , which Hardy regards 
with a steady eye. Loveit looks imploringly at 
Tarleton, who leans against the wall with a dis- 
mayed countenance. A moment's deep silence. 

Mr. Truman. \_Laying down rattan ] But first, let 
us see ; perhaps we may find out the owner of this 
handkerchief another way. [ Examining the corners 


TARLETON. 


85 


of the handkerchief ] I make out the initials J. T. 

[All look at Tarleton, who kneels trembling. 

Tarleton. Upon my word and honor, sir, I ’ll tell 
you all. I should never have thought of stealing 
the apples if Loveit had not first told me of them. 
[Mr. Truman moves toward him ] Oh, dear sir! do 
let me off — do pray let me off this time. [ Whining ] 
I ’m not the only one indeed, sir. I hope you won’t 
make me an example for the rest. It ’s very hard to 
be flogged more than they. 

Mr. Truman. I ’m not going to flog you. 

Tarleton. Thank you, sir. 

[Rising and wiping his eyes. 

Mr. Truman. [Sternly] You need not thank me. 
Take your handkerchief, — go out of this room — out 
of this house — never let me see you more. [Points 
to the door. Tarleton sneaks out] If I had any hopes 
of him, I would have punished him; but I have 
none — punishment is meant only to make people 
better ; and those who have any hopes of themselves 
will know how to submit to it. 

Loveit. [Coming forward] Mr. Truman, I am of 
the guilty party, but I am ready to bear any punish- 
ment you may think proper. 

1st Boy. And I am another, sir. 

2d Boy. And I. 

3 d Boy. And I. 

Old Gentleman. [Rising] They have been punished 
enough ; forgive them, sir. 

Mr. Truman. Not because you ask it, though I 


86 


TARLETON. 


should be glad to oblige you, — It would n’t be just, 
— but there, [pointing to Hardy] there is one who 
has merited a reward ; the highest I can give him is 
the pardon of his companions. [Hardy bows. 

Old Gentleman. Gentlemen, it was n’t for the sake 
of my apples that I spoke ; and you, sir, [ 'to Hardy] 
I thank you for saving my dog. If you please, I will 
plant on that mount opposite the window a young 
apple tree from my old one, as a memorial of your 
conduct on this occasion. 

Tableau. Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

There is nothing peculiar in the costumes of any of the 
characters in this piece, excepting the old gentleman. He 
should be provided with a white wig, and loose, dark colored 
garments suited to old age. 

PROPERTIES. 

A ball; several bats; a piece of raw meat; a handkerchief; 
some books ; a lamp ; a table ; two chairs ; a cane ; a basket of 
apples; a bell; a rattan. 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


87 



Slightly Altered from Lilliput Revels. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Jack. Tom. 

The Giant Grindbones. The Great Black Cat. 

The White Princess. 

Scene I : — A room without furniture. Music. Enter 
Jack, with a large hook open before him. 

Jack. This is the magic hook, that tells you 
where 

To seek the White Princess, with the 
shining hair, 

Who gives to such as find her in her place 


88 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


A silver lily for a spell of grace. 

Come, let us read. Hark ! there is no one 
near ; 

Poor Tom ! we must not let him over- 
hear ; 

I must be secret till the deed is done — 

“ To find the White Princess,” page 
ninety-one. [Reads : 

“ To the left, and to the right, 

Where the ruinous castle white, 

All in ivy for a hood, 

Hestles glooming nigh the wood ; 

Turn aslant, and then go straight, 

Till you reach the twofold gate ; 

When before the gate you stand — ” 

[Continues reading in a murmur , walking to 
and fro , and goes out . Enter Tom with 
a large book. 

Tom. This is a magic book, that tells you how 

To seek the White Princess, with the 
shining brow, 

Who gives to him that finds her on her 
throne 

The reddest rose within her garden 
grown ; 

Which is a strong sweet spell. Come, let 
us see ; 

When I have won, how startled Jack will 
be 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


89 


Tom. 

Jack. 

Both. 

Both. 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 


To learn that on this quest I was a rover ! 

“ To find the White Princess ” — ah, ah ! 
“Turnover.” [Beads: 

“ To the right, and to the left, 

Where the roads cross, warp and weft, 

Where the gray -green willow cool 

Trails into the meadow-pool, 

By the narrow path go on 

Till the twofold gate is won ; 

When before the gate you stand — ” 

[Tom continues reading , and paces back 
and forth. Be-enter Jack, still intent 
on his book. The two unconsciously 
knock against each other. The books 
drop. Each boy tries to get the other's 
volume. 

You have been listening ! 

You have overheard ! 

Let me read that ! 

No ; not a single word ! 

[They fight with the books. 

Miaew ! miaew ! miaew ! [In the distance. 

[Timidly] Tom, what was that ! 

[Timidly] I think — I feel it must have 
been the cat. 

Ay, but what cat ? That was no common 
sound ; 

I thought the noise was somewhere under 
ground. 


90 THE WHITE PRINCESS. 

Tom. What nonsense, John ! Come, let me see 
the hook. 

Jack. No, never, Thomas, shall you on it look ! 

[They fight again. A loud, long caterwaul 
in the distance. Exeunt both in a 
fright , at opposite sides. 

Scene II : — The same. A double curtain at back , be- 
hind which the Cat is concealed. March music. 
Enter Tom and Jack, each with a drawn sword; 
at first not seeing each other. 

Tom. [ Stealthily ] 

So, thus far all is well. The magic screen. 
Now for the spell-song. Lucky have I 
been 

Come, let me try and call the words to 
mind. 

[Pauses reflectively. 
Jack. This is the place. The book was right, I 
find. 

!Now for the invocation. The Princess 
Must listen and appear ; she can no less. 

[Sings. 

“White Princess, with the lily of light, 
Growing in your garden bright — ” 

Tom. [Sings, at the same time'] 

“ White Princess, with the red, red rose, 
Which within your garden grows — ” 

[Recognizing each other. 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


91 


Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 


Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 


What, Tom ! in search, too, of the White 
Lady ! 

What, Jack ! and bound on the same quest 
with me ! 

I started first. 

No, I did. 

So did I. 

I began singing first, then. 

So did I. 

Then you shall die first. 

So shall you. Come, try ! 
[They fight, and in the struggle the curtain 
is parted discovering the Great Black 
Cat gesticulating. 

I am the Cat of cats. I am 
The Everlasting Cat. Miaew ! 

| Miaew ? 

Cunning and old, and sleek as jam, 

The Everlasting Cat. Miaew ! 

| Miaew ? [Impatiently. 

I hunt the vermin in the night— 

The Everlasting Cat. Miaew ! 

J> Miaew? [More impatiently still. 

For I see best without the light — 

The Everlasting Cat. Miaew ! 

| Miaew ? 

[Stamping, and threatening with their swords. 


92 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

All 


Giant. 


Cat. 

Giant. 


Tom. 

Giant. 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 

You did not come for me, I know— 

The Everlasting Cat. Miaew ! 

| Miaew ! [Rushing at her. 

But you will rue before you go — 

j> You Everlasting Cat ! 

Miaew ! 

[Enter the Giant Grindbones with a sword. 

Ha, ha, my friends, I know your errand 
here ! 

Dozens like you I slaughter every year ; 

Look there — and there — you see their 
piled up bones, 

Ribs, shanks, and arms, and skulls, as 
white as stones. 

It was the White Princess, I know, you 
sought, 

And then, like others, you set to and 
fought ; 

And so you’ve seen, instead, my ancient 
friend — 

Miaew ! 

[Flourishing sword wildly'] 

The Cat of cats, the Cat without an end ! 

How I shall kill and eat you both — 

But, sir, 

Did no one ever fight you? 

Lucifer ! 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


93 


Cat. 

Jack. 

Tom. 


Tom. 


Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 

Tom. 

Jack. 


Princess. 


No one, as yet. The good folk fight each 
other. 

Miaew ! [Spits. 

[To Tom] Suppose we fight him, Tom? 

Amen, my brother ! 

[Grand triangular combat. Jack falls and 
Tom helps him up. Then vice versa. 
March music. The Giant falls. The 
Cat slinks off , with a low whine. 

[Putting up his sword ] There, that is over. 

Now, shall we go home, 

Without the blood-red’ rose that made us 
come ? 

You mean a silver lily, not a rose — 

The flower that in the fairy garden blows. 

I say a rose, and mean it. 

And I say 

A lily, and I mean it. 

A rose! 

A lily ! 

[They are on the point of drawing swords 
again , when enter the W hite Princess, 
with a rose and a lily. 

Stay ! 

You [to Tom] want the red, but you must 
take the white ; 

You can not always choose your own 
delight, 

When you are greedy, and fall out, and 
fight. [Tom kneels to receive the lily. 


94 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


You [to Jack] want the white, but you 
must take the other, 

And miss your choice because you fought 
your brother. 

[Jack kneels and receives the rose. 
You fought the Giant, and you made him 
fall, 

Or else you would have had no flower at 
all; 

Yet, if you take your lot with a good 
grace — 

Tom. 1 

Jack. } We will. 

Princess. You do! I see it in your face — 

Your fortune may not yet be at an end, 
And I am half inclined to be your friend. 
Tom. [ Watching his lily ] 

I think my lily is reddening to a rose. 
Jack. I think my red bud to a white cup grows ! 
Cat. [In the distance ] Miaew ! 

Tom. The Cat again ! 

Jack. The Everlasting Cat ! 

Princess. Oh, let her mock ! Why should you care 
for that? 

[ Making magical passes with her hands. 
Take the red rose, willy, nilly, 

You who sought her sister fair; 

Take the silver-shining lily, 

You who sought the rose to wear. 

Do not fear your choice to miss, 


THE WHITE PRINCESS. 


95 


For you yet may find your bliss; 

White be red, and red be white, 

Lily and rose for hearts’ delight! 

[ Tableau . Princess in center ; Jack and 
Tom on either side. Curtain descends 
to soft music. 

costumes. 

Tom and Jack. — Close-fitting jacket, knee-breeches, and hose, 
slippers, belt, and wide turned-down collar. 

Giant. — Rough, black slashed doublet, and breeches ; tights ; 
buckskin gloves ; wide leathern girdle ; hideous mask, and 
shaggy wig. Or, see engraving. 

Princess — White flowing robe, with silver spangles ; light hair 
falling over the shoulders, but bound round the head with 
a shining band. 

The Cat. — Suit of black, and a mask, representing a cat’s face. 
The body may be draped with dark fur. The hands should 
be covered. 


PROPERTIES. 

Two large books ; three swords, or foils ; an artificial rose 
and a lily. A small curtain to conceal the Cat. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

This quaint trifle requires some skill and fancy on the part 
of the actors. The Giant should be personated by a rather large 
boy, with a gruff voice. The Cat’s part should not be overdone. 
The fighting demands much practice, and some knowledge of 
fencing. The performance may be given without music ; but a 
piano, melodeon, or flute, adds much to the effect. 


/ 


96 


GOOD ACTIONS MEND BAD ACTIONS. 


OOD ACTIONS MEND 

BAD ACTIONS. 


Adapted from Bulwer's Caztons. 

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Augustin Caxton, a country gentleman. 
Mrs. Kitty Caxton, his wife. 

Master Sisty Caxton, their son. 

Mrs. Primmins, a serving woman. 

v Scene I : — A front yard. Mr. 
Caxton seated carelessly , a 
straw hat over his eyes , and 
a hook on his lap ; Mrs. C. sewing ; a flower-pot 
falls with a crash from an upper window. 

Airs. Caxton. Dear ! dear ! my poor flower-pot that 
I prized so much ! Who could have done this ? 
Primmins ! 

Primmins. [ From above~\ Yes, ma’am. 

Airs. Caxton. Oh, I would rather have lost all the 
plants in the green-house in the great blight last 
May, — I would rather the best tea-set were broken ! 
The poor geranium I reared myself, and the dear, 
flower-pot which Mr. Caxton bought for me on my 
birthday ! The naughty child must have done this ! 

[ Enter Primmins, looking frightened. 
Primmins. No, ma ’am, it was not the dear boy, 



GOOD ACTIONS MEND BAD ACTIONS. 


97 


bless his flesh, it was I. Do not punish him. 

Mrs. Caxton. You? How could you be so care- 
less? and you knew how I prized them both. Oh, 
Primmins ! [Primmins begins to sob. 

Sisty. [ Entering ] Do n’t tell fibs, nursey,— do n’t 
scold Primmins, mother ; it was I who pushed out 
the flower-pot. 

Primmins. Hush, — hush ! [To Mrs. C.] And if 
he did break it, ma’am, it was quite an accident; 
he was standing so, and he never meant it. Did 
you, Master Sisty? [Aside to Sisty] Speak, or jia 
will be so angry. 

Mrs. Caxton. Well, I suppose it was an accident ; 
take care in the future, my child. You are sorry, I 
see, to have grieved me. There ’s a kiss. Do n’t fret. 

Sisty. Ho, mother, you must not kiss me ; I do n’t 
deserve it. I pushed out the flower-pot on purpose. 

Mr. Caxton. [Advancing'] Ha ! on purpose ? and 
why? 

Primmins. [Agitated] Oh, sir — 

Sisty. For fun ! [Hanging his head] Just to see 
how you ’d look, pa ; and that ’s the truth of it. How 
whip me, do beat me ! 

Mr. Caxton. [Throwing his book aside] Boy, you 
have done wrong ; you shall repair it by remem- 
bering all your life that your father blessed God for 
giving him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear ! 
Mrs. Primmins, the next fable of this kind you try 
to teach him, and we part forever. [Bell rings] 
Come, the tea-bell rings. [Exeunt. 


98 


GOOD ACTIONS MEND BAD ACTIONS. 


Scene II : — A parlor. Sisty amusing himself with a 
box of dominoes. Enter Mr. Caxton. 

Mr. Caxton. Ah ! You like the dominoes bettei 
than all your other playthings, eh? 

Sisty. Oh, yes, pa. 

Mr. Caxton. You would be very sorry if your ma 
were to throw that box out of the window and 
break it for fun. But perhaps you would be very 
glad if suddenly one of those good fairies you read 
of could change the domino-box into a beautiful 
geranium in a beautiful flowerpot, and you could 
have the pleasure of putting it on your mother’s 
window sill. 

Sisty. Indeed I would. [Half crying. 

Mr. Caxton. My dear boy, I believe you ; but 
good wishes do n’t mend bad actions. I am going 
to walk to the village, will you come along? and, 
by the by, fetch your domino-box, I should like to 
show it to a person there. 

Sisty. Yes, father. There are no fairies now, are 
there ? 

Mr. Caxton. Well, what if there are not? 

Sisty. [ Hesitating ] Why, — how then can my 
domino-box be changed into a geranium and a flower- 
pot ? 

Mr. Caxton. My dear, every body who is in 
earnest to do good carries two fairies about with 
him — one here, [touching Sisty’s breast ] and one 
here. [ Touching Sisty’s forehead. 


GOOD ACTIONS MENI) BAD ACTIONS. 


99 


Sisty. I can’t understand you, father. 

Mr. Caxton. I can wait till you do, my boy. 
Come along. [ Exeunt . 

Scene III : — The same parlor. Enter Mr. and Mrs. 

Caxton. 

Mrs. Caxton. Where is Sisty? 

Mr. Caxton. I think he will soon be here. I left 
him at the stationers. Ah ! here he is now. 

[ Enter Sisty. 

Sisty. Oh ! father, I have sold my box ; you know 
you said I could if I should wish to. 

Mrs. Caxton. Sold your box ! 

Sisty. Yes, mother, for eighteen shillings. 

Mrs. Caxton. And what have you done with the 
eighteen shillings, my dear? 

Sisty. You shall see. [Greatly excited ] Primmins, 
Primmins, come ! This is your birthday, mother, 
and I have bought you a present. [Enter Primmins 
with a geranium ] Oh, father, father, [clapping his 
hands ] I have bought the geranium ; I have bought 
the flower-pot ! 

Mr. Caxton. Did I not say right? You have 
found the two fairies. 

Sisty. Dear mother, [taking the geranium from 
Primmins] take this instead of that which I pushed 
out of the window. 

Mr. Caxton. It is his doing, and his money. Good 
actions have mended the bad. 


100 


GOOD ACTIONS MEND BAD ACTIONS. 


Mrs. Caxton. What! and your poor domino-box 
that you were so fond of! We will go back to- 
morrow and buy it back, if it cost us double. 

Mr. Caxton. Shall we buy it back, my son ? 

Sisty. Oh, no, no, no ! It would spoil all. 

[ Burying his face on his father's breast. 

Mr. Caxton. My wife, [ solemnly ] this is my first 
lesson to our child, — the sanctity and the happiness 
of self-sacrifice — undo not what it should teach to 
his dying day. 

Curtain. 

COSTUMES AND PROPERTIES. 

The costumes required in this are genteel, but not peculiar. 
The properties comprise a book, some sewing-work, and arti- 
cles to represent the flower-pots, and a domino-box. 


NONSENSE. 


101 



ONSENSE; OR, 

TWO WAYS OF 

TRAINING BOYS. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


John Stonepost. 

William Wiseheart. 
Abraham Stonepost. John Stonepost, junior . 

William Wiseheart, junior . Peter Slippery. 

Thomas Tumbler. 


Scene I : — An open place. Enter John Stonepost 
and William Wiseheart, with heavy canes. 

Stone. No, Mr. Wiseheart, I do n’t agree with 
you. [ Very positively'] I do n’t agree with you, sir. 
I am a practical man. I hate nonsense. I believe 
in hoys making themselves useful. 

Wise. But do n’t you think it would he useful 
for your son to remain in school longer, and study 
some of the higher branches? 

Stone. Useful! Pooh! Useful! No I don’t. He’s 
been to school as long as I can spare him. He 
knows readin’, writin’, and ’rithmetic. Would you 
want a hoy to go to school a year? 

II T ise. Well, yes. 


102 


NONSENSE. 


Stone. Look here ; I never studied no grammar, 
and nobody can’t talk correcter than me. It ’s no 
use to learn any higher branches. 

Wise. Would n’t it add to your son’s pleasure to 
know more than he does. 

Stone. Pleasure ! ridiculous — we was n’t made for 
pleasure in this world. I tell you, sir, life is reality 
— stern reality. 

Wise. Well, Mr. Stonepost, you may be right in 
your method of bringing up children, hut I ’m afraid 
you hold the reins too tight. Youth is the time of 
growth, and requires both instruction and amuse- 
ment, as well as discipline. 

Stone. I tell you, William Wiseheart, you talk 
like a woman. Do n’t I know by experience all 
about trainin’ boys. Can't j^ou judge me by my 
fruits ? Have n’t I raised my Abraham from a baby 
to a man, and who says Abraham is n’t as smart 
and as moral as any young man in the country ? 

Wise. Abraham? Ah, yes, he is in the army 
now, I hear. 

Stone. Yes, sir, — and a lieutenant at that — I got 
him his commission a month ago. Abraham is a 
boy I can depend upon. I brought him up just 
right. I held him, sir, as you say, with a tight rein ; 
you may say I held him with a curb-bit and a strong 
martingale. Ho folly never entered his head. I say, 
sir, I brought Abraham up exactly right. 

Wise. I hope so, Mr. Stonepost. 

Stone. I know so. If I had a dozen more to 


NONSENSE. 


103 


raise, I’d put ’em through the same drill. Now, 
there’s Johnny, my youngest, — I’m taking the 
sensible course with him. I call him a model small 
boy. I ’ll just call him, and you may judge for 
yourself. Wait a minute. [ Goes out. 

Wise. Stonepost is a sensible man in some things, 
but he is very weak just where he imagines himself 
strong. He has the fullest confidence in his Abra- 
ham, while every body else thinks the fellow a scape- 
grace. I would n’t be surprised to hear bad news of 
him any day. He has neither knowledge nor self- 
control, and now that he is free from restraint, he ’ll 
be more likely to fall into bad ways than he would 
have done if he had enjoyed more liberty at home. 

[Re-enter Stonepost, leading Johnny. 

Stone. Here, Mr. Wiseheart, is the boy. [To 
Johnny] Why don’t you shake hands with the 
gentleman ? 

Wise. How do you do, Johnny? I am very glad 
to see you. 

Stone. [Loud and sternly ] Why do n’t you say you 
are happy to make the gentleman’s acquaintance? 

John. [ Frightened !] I am happy to make the 
gentleman’s acquaintance. 

Stone. You numbskull, — 

Wise. The boy is embarrassed. 

Stone. No, he is n’t. He knows better. He needs 
a little hickory oil to cure his bad manners. He ’ll 
get it, too, unless he behaves like a man. Behave 
like a man, d ’ye hear? 


104 


NONSENSE. 


John. Yes, sir. 

Stone. Yery well, now tell this gentleman your 
motto. 

John. [ Speaking by rote ] Be useful. 

Stone. Yery well. Tell him what you think of 
nonsense. 

John. Nonsense-is-the-road-to-ruin. 

Stone. Very well, very well. You see he thinks 
for himself about these things. What are some of 
the nonsenses of youth ? 

John. Playing, and reading story books, and go- 
ing to shows, and laughing, and almost every thing 
funny. 

Stone. What beasts do you like best? 

John. Horses, cows, sheep, and hogs. 

Stone. Well said; what birds? 

John. Geese, ducks, chickens, and turkeys. 

Stone. Good again; what plants? 

John. Corn, wheat, and potatoes. 

Wise. Which flowers do you prefer? 

John. Oh, they are all so pretty. I wish I could 
have a bunch. 

Stone. What, what, what? Flowers are of no 
use, my boy, — don’t let me hear you talk of want- 
ing flowers. Speak out like a man, and tell the 
gentleman that you despise flowers. 

John. I — I — 1 — despise — [ Crying. 

Stone. What, crying! A boy cry — well, I’m 
ashamed of you. Not another whimper! Not a 
sob! Come along,— if you must cry, I’ll give you 


NONSENSE. 


105 


a dose of hickory oil to make the tears come easy. 

[Goes out , leading Johnny by the collar. 

Wise. Too bad, too bad. Mr. Stonepost is fighting 
against nature. He is a real Thomas Gradgrind. 
I ’m sure his method is wrong. 

[ Enter William Wiseiieart, junior. 

Willy. Oh, father, let me tell you, — there ’s two 
of the queerest-looking boys at our house, — they say 
they want to get work. Mother told me to run and 
ask you if you would n’t do something for them ; 
they look pretty shabby, 1 tell you. 

Wise. Go tell them to come here. Perhaps Mr. 
Stonepost and I can devise some plan to help them, 
if they are deserving. 

[Exit Willy. Enter Stonepost. 

Stone. Excuse me, Mr. Wiseheart, for leaving you 
as I did. I was so vexed with that boy. Why, 1 
never knew him to be so unreasonable. I ’m afraid 
his mother puts foolish notions in his head. 

Wise. No apologies. How would you like to 
take a vagrant boy into your family and train him? 

Stone. Well, I don’t know, — I might do it, — 1 
like to train boys. Why? 

Wise. My son was here just now and told me 
there were two poor lads at my house hunting work. 
I sent him to bring them here, — and here they are, 
J suppose, now. 

[Enter Willy, with Tom and Pete, ragged and dirty. 

Willy. Here they are, father. I)o n’t they look 
funny? 


106 


NONSENSE. 


Wise. May be, Willy, they would feel quite as 
comfortable, if you wouldn’t make any remarks 
about their appearance. Well, my lad, what shall I 
call you. 

Tom. Tom Tumbler is my name, and this is Pete 
Slippery. 1 fell in with him along the road this 
morning, and found him about as hard up as I. 
We ’re both trying to get work. 

Wise. Where are you from? 

Tom. Well, that’s a question that I don’t much 
like to answer; but I may as well blurt it out first 
as last. The fact is, I ran away from an old fellow 
up country here, because he flogged me a good deal 
more than I thought a boy ought to bear. 

Stone. Served you right, served you right. Sensible 
man. What did he flog you for ? 

Tom. Well, I kinder think he did it for fun; it 
seemed to tickle him mightily — so it did me. I 
s ’pose I was too mischievous, but somehow it ’s in 
me and must come out. 

Stone. I like the looks of this boy best. [To Pete] 
You may tell us how you come to be here. 

Pete. [In an abject and whining manner] I am 
sorry to confess, sir, that I ran away, too, but not 
because I was whipped. I never got but one whip- 
ping in my whole life, and that was because I gave 
away all my week’s earnings to a poor, blind beg- 
gar. 

Stone. Well, you was wrong there — but let us 
know why you ran away. 


NONSENSE. 


107 


Pete. Oh, sir, I do n’t like to say any thing agin 
my old boss ; he was a very nice man, and far be it 
from me to run him down. [ Sobbing . 

Stone . Never mind ; you seem a very honest boy; 
go on. 

Pete. Well, they tried to get me to read a novel; 
and I knowed it was wrong, and I could n’t stay 
there no longer. 

Stone. Wrong and foolish. 

Wise. What was the name of the novel? 

Pete. Oh, sir, it was a very wicked book. It was 
by the Dickens himself ; and I would n’t have 
nothing to do with it ; so I ran away. 

Stone. You ’re the boy for me ! I ’ll take you 
and train you up right. Go over to my house yon- 
der, and wait till 1 come. Mr. Wiseheart, that’s a 
good boy. 

[Pete puts his thumb to his nose and makes faces 
behind Stonepost, and exit. 

Wise. Perhaps he is. 

Stone. Perhaps? there’s no doubt of it! Just 
hear him talk. 

Tom. I guess he ’s a very nice boy, for he talks 
like a book ; but he has queer notions. I can’t say 
I am as pious as he is, but I beat him all holler let- 
ting your peaches alone as we came by the orchard 
over there. 

Stone. You are a lying, impudent fellow. I hope 
Mr. Wiseheart will send you to the poor-house where 
you belong. 


108 


NONSENSE. 


Wise. No, indeed; I intend to take him home 
with me and see what can be made of him. Come, 
Willy. Good day, Mr. Stonepost. Now, then, Tom ; 
a race between you boys. [ Exeunt . 

Scene II : — The same. Enter Johnny and Willy. 

Willy. Did n’t I see Pete with you over by the 
barn ? 

Johnny. Yes. He and I slipped off together to- 
day to have a good time. 

Willy. What? you didn’t come away without 
asking your folks, did you ? 

John. Yes, we did. Pete said he ’d make up a lot 
of lies to fool father, and we ’d have a jolly day of it. 

Willy. Ain’t you ashamed to fool your father in 
that way? 

John. Not much, for I never have any fun at 
home, and Pete said if I ’d go with him, he and Tom 
would play clown for us, and that would be as good as 
a circus. You know I never saw a circus in all my 
life. 

Willy. I do n’t think it ’s right for you to do this 
way. I believe Pete’s a mean fellow. I would n’t 
be led by him. 

John. Bill, if you knew what a hard time I have 
of it, you would n’t blame me. Father never lets 
me go anywhere, or read any thing that I want to, 
or play, or do at all like other boys ; and I ’ve about 
concluded to enjoy myself a little on the sly. 


NONSENSE. 


109 


Willy. You just coax your father to let you go to 
school where I do. 

John. I ’m sure it ’s no use to coax. 

Willy. I ’ll ask your father. 

John. I don’t think it would do any good; he’d 
say it’s all nonsense. Here come Tom and Pete. 
How odd they look ! 

[ Enter Tom and Pete, grotesquely dressed to represent 
clowns. They how to each other politely. Tom 
offers snuff-box to Pete. Pete opens box, Tom 
blows in it, pretending to fill Pete’s eyes. Pete 
sneezes violently. Tom begs pardon with great show 
of apology. Pete finally shakes hands, then offers 
Tom a flask. Tom puts it to his mouth, while 
Pete looks significantly at audience. Tom spits, 
rubs his mouth, throws down the flask, shakes fist. 
Pete throws down the box and assumes a boxing 
attitude. Tom pulls out a gingerbread, shaped 
like a pistol. Pete exhibits ludicrous terror, and 
falls as if dead. Tom quietly eats the pistol. 
Enter Mr. Stonepost, suddenly. 

Stone. What’s this, what’s this, what’s this? 
John Stonepost, tell me this instant how you came 
here. 

John. Oh, father, Pete asked me to. 

Stone. Peter asked you? You tell a falsehood. 
Peter wouldn’t he caught in such company. 

Tom. Ha, ha, ha! I guess he wouldn’t if he 
could help it. Who do you think that dead fellow 
is? 


110 


NONSENSE. 


Stone. [Approaching Pete] Why you young 
vagabond. How dare you take my boy away with 
you? 

Tom. Say, old gentleman, have you paid your 
quarter to come into this show? 

Stone. You young scapegrace — I 'll — [Runs after 
Tom, who dodges him ] There ’s Wisehart’s boy, too, 
— that accounts for it. 

Willy. Ho, sir, it do n’t account for it. I told 
John he had done wrong, but he said you never let 
him have any sport, and he had made up his mind 
to cheat you. 

Stone. John, John, what did you mean by such 
talk ? 

John. I only said what I thought. If you ’d let 
me do as Bill’s father lets him do, I ’m sure I would 
be a better boy. 

Willy. Yes, Mr. Stonepost, I ’ve been telling John 
about our school, and what good times we have, and 
I promised to ask you to let him — 

Stone. Hush up, hush up ! I ’ll not listen to your 
nonsense. I ’ll cane you both — all three. 

[Enter Wiseheart. 

Wise. Ho, neighbor Stonepost. I don’t think 
you will cane my son. 

Stone. Mr. Wiseheart, listen to me. Here I found 
your boy and mine laughing their sides sore over 
the foolery of two clownish boys. 

Wise. Well, what harm was there in that? 

Stone. Harm? It’s nonsense. Besides I told my 


NONSENSE. 


Ill 


boy this morning to stay to home, and here I find 
him with these buffoons. 

Wise. Well, if your boy cares no more for your 
orders than that, I think it pretty clear that there 
is something wrong in your method of training. 

Stone. Method of training ! Mr. Wisebeart, I Ve 
a good mind to strike you. Haven’t I raised my 
Abraham — [Noise without . 

Wise. What ’s that ? 

[ Enter Abraham, very drunk. 

Stone. It ’s my Abraham ! 

Wise. What? Your son? 

Abraham. I ’m just as good a man, [ hie ] as any 
other man. 

Stone. Abraham, — my boy, — don’t you know 
me? 

Abraham. Yes, I know you, old boy, and I know 
this old curmudgeon. If you want any thing from 
me — -just \liic] come along. [Assumes an attitude. 

Stone. I ’m your father, don’t you know me? 

Abraham. Do n’t I know you ? You ’re a regular 
old brick ! Won’t you take a pull? [Offering bottle. 

Stone. Ah, friend Wiseheart, this is a sorry day 
for me. 

Wise. Neighbor, I am sorry for you. 

Abraham. Bye-bye, old gentlemen. [Staggers out. 

Stone. I ’m afraid I’ve had wrong ideas about 
training boys after all. You and my Avife Avere right. 

Wise. I ’m sure of it, Mr. Stonepost. You kl bet- 
ter reform your method in time to benefit Johnny. 


112 


NONSENSE. 


Stone. So I will. Come here, Johnny. You may 
start to school to-morrow. 

John. Thank you, father, thank you. I will never 
deceive you again. 

Wise. Mr. Stonepost, you must come home with 
me to dinner, and we will talk over ways and means 
of reforming Abraham. Don’t be cast down. It’s 
never too late to mend, you know. As to these 
young pantomimists, I should be glad to see them 
perform myself, for I hope I shall never be too old 
or too severe to laugh at innocent fun. So, if you 
all like, we ’ll have a little exhibition in the back 
parlor at my house this evening. Boys, those who 
are in favor of this say I. [ Boys shout. 

Tableau. Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

John Stonepost.— Gray suit; tall white hat; bushy whiskers. 
William Wiseiieart. — Plain black suit; silk hat. 

Abraham. — Lieutenant’s uniform, much disordered; no sword. 
John Stonepost, Jr. \ 

Willy Wiseiieart, Jr. } Neat b °y’ s dress > but not alike. 

Pete and Tom. — Ragged attire, and very ill-fitting. In the 
clown act they must paint their faces, using flour, Vermil- 
lion, and burnt cork. 


PROPERTIES. 

Two canes; two pocket-flasks; a snuff-box; a bretzel or 
ginger-cake pistol. 


CINDERELLA. 


113 


INDERELLA; OR, 

PRIDE PUNISHED. 


From Julia Corner's Little Plays. 

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Prince. Ulrica. 

Muley. Charlotte. 

The Baroness. Cinderella. 
Ladies and Gentlemen. 
Fairy. 


Scene I : — A kitchen. Cinderella discovered sitting 
on a low stool , with her elbow on her knees , her 
head resting on her hands. She remains for a 
short time, then raises her head. 

Cind. This is a wretched life ; it can’t be right 

That I should have to scrub from morn till 
night, 

And go in rags a beggar would disgrace, 

Whilst my proud sisters dress in silk and 
lace. 

They never have such dirty work to do ; 

. And why should I not be a lady too ? 

\_She rises. Enter Charlotte. 

Char. Pray, Cinderella, what are you about? 

You know quite well that we are going out, 



S. T. 10. 


114 


CINDERELLA. 


And you ’ve not done down here. Do you 
suppose 

That you can dress us with such hands as 
those ? 

Cind. I ’ve almost done, Miss Charlotte. 

Char. Do n’t tell me 

You ’ve almost done, when I can plainly see 
The grate is still to clean, — the hearth to 
scour, 

Dishes to wash, — you’ll not be done this 
hour. 

Cind. I’ll come and dress you first. 

[Enter Baroness and Ulrica. 
Ulrica. Where ’s Cinderella, 

I’m waiting for her, sister did you tell her? 
Char. Yes, but her work is not half done, I find. 
Bar. You idle little creature, I ’ve a mind 

To box your ears ; how dare you dawdle so ? 
The fact is, you have been asleep, I know. 
Cind. I’ve been at work since five o’clock this 
morning. [ Yawning. 

Bar. And so you ought, miss, — now, do n’t stand 
there yawning. 

But wash your hands directly, and make 
haste ; 

My daughters have not any time to waste. 

[Exit. 

And mind, you must take pains to do your 
best, 

That we may both be very nicely dressed. 


Ulrica. 


CINDERELLA. 


115 


For this will be, I ’m told, the grandest ball 
Wo Vo ever been invited to at all. [Exit. 
Cind. And you will see the Prince, too, — oh, dear 
me ! 

How very, very happy you must be. 

Char. Perhaps you ’d like to go ? 

Cind. Indeed I should ; 

Ah, dear Miss Charlotte, if you ’d be so good 
As lend me your pink gauze just for to- 
night, 

I might go in at least and see the sight. 
Char. Don’t talk such nonsense, child, for good- 
ness’ sake ! 

A pretty figure at a ball you ’d make ! 

[Exit. Cinderella alone ; - she washes her 
hands and puts on a clean apron, and 
while she is doing so talks to herself. 
Cind. Plenty of work for me to-night — heigh — ho ! 
I hope it is not always to be so ; 

However, I suppose that I must try 
To do my best, and bear it patiently. 

[Exit. Enter Fairy. 

Fairy. So these two girls, if I have heard aright, 
Are going to the Prince’s ball to-night, 
Whilst Cinderella’s kept at home, I find, 

To wash the dishes — now, I have a mind 
That she shall go as well as they. Poor 
dear ! 

They use her shamefully, that ’s very clear. 


116 


CINDERELLA. 


Scene II A dressing-room ; in the middle a table 
with a looking-glass and two tall candles. Char- 
lotte and Ulrica discovered dressed for the ball. 
Charlotte stands putting on her gloves , and 
Ulrica sits before the glass, while Cinderella 
adjusts the flowers in her hair. When this is done, 
she rises and comes forward. 

Ulrica. [To Charlotte] How do I look? 

Char. Quite charming;* but I think 

You would look better if your wreath was 
pink. 

Ulrica. I don’t think so at all; hut that’s your 
way, 

You always have some spiteful thing to 
say. 

Char. [Aside'] I like to vex her, she’s so very 
vain. 

Ulrica. [Aside] Charlotte is jealous of me, that is 
plain. 

[Enter the Baroness. Cinderella sits down 
with a melancholy air by the dressing- 
table. 

Bar. Come, children, are you ready? 

Char. Yes, ma, quite. 

Bar. How, mind you try to do your best to-night 

To get good husbands — Charlotte, do you 
hear ? 

You poke your head most terribly, my 
dear. 


CINDERELLA. 


117 


Char . I mean to hold it high enough, you ’ll see, 

When I am married to some great grandee. 

Ulrica. [ Impatiently ] Well, let us go — good night 
mamma. 

Char. [ They walk toward the door] Good-bye. 

Bar. Good night, my dears. 

[Exeunt Charlotte and Ulrica. 

They do look charmingly, 
And who knows but the Prince himself 
might fall 

In love with one of them — ’t is not at all 
Unlikely. [ Turns to Cinderella] Well, 
miss, sitting at your ease, 

As if you ’d nothing else to do — now, please 
To get my supper ; [Cinderella rises slow - 
ly] let me see no airs. 

Then go and finish all your work down 
stairs. [ Exeunt . 

Scene III : — The kitchen. Cinderella is sitting by 
the fireplace , crying. Enter Fairy. 

Fairy. Why, Cinderella, what ’s the matter, dear? 

Cind. [Starting up in joyful surprise] Oh, god- 
mother, I ’m so glad you ’re here. 

Fairy. Put what have you been crying, child, 
about ? 

Is it because your sisters are gone out, 

And left you here at home? 

’Tis wrong, I know; 


Cind. 


118 


CINDERELLA. 


But yet I can’t help wishing I could go. 

Fairy. Well, well, don’t fret; we’ll see what can 
be done ! 

But first into the garden you must run, 

And gather me a pumpkin — do you mind; 

And let it be the largest you can find. 

[ Exit Cinderella. 

The mother’s gone to bed, and she shall 
sleep 

Until the morning sun begins to peep. 

[Enter Cinderella, with a large pumpkin in 
her arms. 

Cincl. This is the very largest I could bring. 

Fairy. Yes, that will do ; it is the very thing 

I want. Now, set it just outside the door, 

Then I must send you to get something 
more. 

[Cinderella takes the pumpkin out , and 
returns. 

Fairy. Down in the cellar there ’s a mouse-trap, 
dear, 

With six brown mice in it ; go, bring them 
here. 

[Cinderella goes out and soon returns icith 
the trap. 

Cind. Here they are ; see how they run about. 

Fairy. Aye, they will gallop famously, no doubt ; 

Now, go again, and if there is a rat 

Caught in the trap, why, you may bring me 
that. 


CINDERELLA. 


119 


[Cinderella goes , and returns with another 
trap , which she puts down by the side of 
the Fairy. 

Fairy. That ’s right ; but still another thing we 
want, 

Or else our equipage will he but scant 

Under the water-butt, I think, you ’ll see 

Four fine, green lizards ; bring them here 
to me. 

[Cinderella goes out again , and returns 
with four lizards in a cage , and gives 
them to the Fairy. The Fairy, after 
looking closely at the lizards , hands them 
back to Cinderella. 

Fairy. Put all these creatures in the doorway, too ; 

And then see what your godmother can do. 

[Cinderella carries out the lizards and the 
two traps , then places herself near the 
Fairy, who goes to the open door , and 
keeps waving her hand backward and 
forward. 

(find. Ah ! what is that ? look ! — good gracious 
me ! 

The pumpkin ’s turned into a coach ! and 
see, 

The mice are horses ! and look there, the 
rat 

A fine, fat coachman — only think of that ! 

[Cinderella claps her hands , and dances 
with delight. 


120 


CINDERELLA. 


The lizards, too, four footmen ! oh, how 
grand 

They look in green and gold ! — see, see ! 

they stand 
Behind the coach — 

Fairy . Well, poppet, will it do 

To take you to the ball? 

Cind. How kind of you 

To do so much for me ! but then, look here, 
I have no gown but this, godmother, dear. 

Fairy. Poor child ! well, take it off, and then we ’ll 
see 

What can be done. 

[Cinderella throws off her old gown and 
appears in a ball dress, and the Fairy 
takes a wreath of flowers from under her 
cloak and puts it on her head. 

Cind. Oh, goodness ! look at me ! 

I never saw so beautiful a dress ; 

Why I shall be as grand as a princess ! 

But these old shoes? 

Fairy. [ Takes a pair of slippers from her pocket. 

Behold, my pretty lass, 
A pair of shining slippers made of glass. 

Cind. [/ Sorrowfidly ] I can not dance. 

Fairy. You need not be distressed, 

These fairy shoes will make you dance the 
best. 

[Cinderella puts on the slippers , and looks 
at them admiringly. 


CINDERELLA. 


121 


Fairy. Now listen well to what 1 ’m going to say ; 
Be very careful that you come away 
Before the clock strikes twelve, for then the 
charm 

Will cease, and you might come to some 
great harm, 

The coach become a pumpkin in a trice, 
The footmen lizards, and the horses mice. 
No trace of those fine clothes will then re- 
main ; 

You ’ll be poor Cinderella once again. 

Cind. [ Kissing the Fairy] I ’ll come away in time, 

I promise you. [Exit. 

Fairy. I shall be much mistaken if you do. [Exit. 

Scene IY : — The ball-room ; at the upper end a sofa , 
on which the Prince is seated between the two 
sisters , to whom he pays attention ; a polka is 
played , and one or two couples are dancing , while 
others are sitting. Enter Cinderella ; the Prince 
sees her, and rises; the music ceases , and the 
dancers walk around the room in pairs. 

Prince. [ Aside ] What a sweet creature; but who 
can she be ? 

[He approaches and takes her hand. 
Lady, permit me ; I am proud to see 
So fair a guest ; although with shame I own 
Your name and rank are both to me un- 
known. 


S. T. 11. 


122 


CINDERELLA. 


Cind. Prince, I am a stranger, and I came to see 
A court so famed for hospitality. 

Your kind reception charms me ; yet I fear 
You ’ll think me hold to come unbidden 
here. 

[He leads her to the sofa , and seats her be- 
tween her sisters , who appear delighted 
as she talks to each in turn , and gives 
them flowers from her bouquet. The 
Prince stands by and seems to join in 
the conversation . Two couples promen- 
ade , and as they cross the front they 
speak. 

Gent. She ’s very handsome — 

Lady. Yes ; and then her dress 

Is costly, she must be some great princess. 
[That couple passes on, and another comes to 
the front. 

Lady. There ’s no one here can learn from whence 
she came, 

Even the Prince himself don’t know her 
name. 

Gent. Perhaps a foreign princess ; but no doubt, 
His Highness will take care to find it out. 

[ They pass on; a polka is played, and the 
Prince dances with Cinderella; two 
gentlemen offer their hands to the sisters , 
and the dance continues for a moderate 
time, when the music stops. The sisters 
then sit down, and their partners stand 


CINDERELLA. 


123 


Prince. 

Cind. 

Prince. 

Cind. 

Prince. 


Cind. 


by them talking , while the Prince and 
Cinderella come to the front of the 
stage. 

But surely, lady, you will condescend 

To tell me who you are ? 

Nay, I intend 

To try your patience for one hour more ; 

Then, if you ask, I ’ll tell ; hut not before. 

[Aside"] He can not ask, for then I shall be 
gone; 

’T is past eleven — how the time runs on ! 

[. Doubtingly ] You mean to tell me? 

I mean what I say. 

[To the company , and giving his arm to 
Cinderella. 

Then, now to supper, friends, we lead the 
way. 

[He leads out Cinderella, and the rest fol- 
low in couples. A short time elapses , and 
the clock strikes twelve ; Cinderella 
enters hurriedly in her old dress, with the 
glass slippers in her hand, but drops one 
of them in trying to put them into her 
pocket. 

Oh, dear ! what shall I do ? I ’ve stayed too 
late ; 

I wish that I could find the palace gate, 

I must run home on foot — I know the way ; 

But if I ’m seen, what will the servants say ? 

[Enter Muley. 


124 CINDERELLA. 

Muley. Why, who are you ? and what do you want 
here ? 

The scullery ’s your proper place, my dear. 

[Exit Cinderella. Enter Prince. 
Prince. This is most strange ; I missed her from my 
side 

All in a moment. Muley, have you tried 
To find the lady? 

Muley. Yes, your Highness, she 

Must certainly be gone, for we do n’t see 
Her carriage in the court, and it was there 
Scarcely ten minutes since, they all declare. 
Prince. How could it pass the gate and not be seen ? 
Muley. I do not know, my lord; four men in green 
There were, besides the coachman ; and 
I’m told 

Their liveries were richly laced with gold, 
The chariot was splendid too, they say ; 

’T is odd that no one saw it drive away. 
Prince. I can’t imagine which way she could pass, 
Behold! what’s this? [ takes up the slipper~\ 
a slipper made of glass. 

’T is fortunate — for I will surely find her 
By this small token she has left behind her. 

[Exit. 

Scene V : — The dressing-room. Cinderella sitting. 


Cind. Oh ! what a happy, happy night I ’ve spent; 
I scarcely can believe I really went. 


CINDERELLA. 


125 


Who would suppose that, only two hours 
since, 

I was so gaily dancing with a prince. 

\A loud knocking at the door , Cinderella, 
opens it and the two sisters enter. 

Oh, dear! [ Yawning'] I am so tired — how 
late you ’ve stayed. 

I should have gone to sleep, but was afraid 
That if I did I should not hear you knock. 

I do believe it is past three o’clock. 

Ulrica. It is not two. 

Char. We are not tired at all; 

No more would you, if you ’d been at the 
ball. 

Ulrica. It would-be strange indeed, if we were tired, 
When we have been so very much admired. 
Char. Yes — and there was a beautiful princess ; 

I only wish you could have seen her dress ; 
She came and sat by us— and was as free 
As if we ’d been her equals. 

Cind. [Laughing aside'] That was me. 

Ulrica She gave us flowers from her own bouquet. 
Char. Mine was a rose. 

Ulrica. And mine a sprig of May. 

Char . And then the most obliging things she said ; 

Which plainly showed she had at court been 
bred. 

Cind. ’T is well for you, — I wish I had been there. 
Char. It makes one laugh to hear you, I declare; 
Come, let us go to bed. 


126 


CINDERELLA. 


Cind. Shall you want me 

To heip you to undress ? 

Ulrica . Yes. Certainly. 

[ Exeunt . 

Scene YI : — A room in the palace. The Prince alone , 
sitting by a table , with his elbow resting upon it. 
He has the glass slipper in his hand. 

Prince. I shall have neither rest nor peace of mind, 
Until that lovely creature I can find ; 

For I am quite resolved that she alone 
Shall he my bride, and partner of my throne. 

[Enter Muley. 

Well, Muley, what success? 

Muley. Your Highness, none; 

Yet all "that you commanded I have done ; 
At every neighboring court I ’ve made in- 
quiries, 

But can no princess find. 

Prince. Then my desire is, 

That there shall be a royal proclamation, 

To all the single ladies of the nation, 
Declaring that my throne I mean to share 
With any one who can this slipper wear. 
Muley. But, sir, it might a dozen ladies fit. 

Prince. Ho, no, good Muley, there ’s no fear of it; 
For there was not a single foot beside 
So small and beautiful. I ’ll have it tried 
At any rate — and that without delay ; 


CINDERELLA. 


127 


So you may send the heralds out to-day. 

[Exit. 

Muley. My royal master has gone mad — that ’s 
plain ; 

This fair unknown has fairly turned his 
brain. 

[Exit. 

Scene YII : — The dressing-room. Cinderella sitting 
at work ; the Baroness reading. 

Bar. [Looking up from her hook and speaking 
sharply. 

You are not sewing very fast, I ’m sure. 
Cind. I am indeed. [Aside] I wonder who ’d en- 
dure 

Such constant scolding. [Enter Charlotte. 
Char. Oh, mamma, such news ! 

I ’ve hurried home, that we no time may 
lose, 

It is about the Prince. It seems he found, 
After the ball, a slipper on the ground ; 
And now proclaims he’ll marry any one 
Whose foot is small enough to get it on. 

[Enter Ulrica hastily. 
Ulrica. I ’ve heard it, — there ’s to be a public fete, 
When every girl, whatever be her state, 
Will be at liberty the shoe to try. 

I ’ve a small foot, I ’m sure. 

[Pwte out her foot. 


Char. 


128 


CINDERELLA. 


Ulrica. And so have I. 

Bar. [ Rising ] Now, children, I will tell you what 

to do ; 

Try very hard to squeeze your feet into 
The smallest ladies’ shoes you can obtain, 
The chance of being a queen is worth some 
pain. [Exit. 

Cind. [ Without looking up~] 

I wonder if the slipper would fit me ? 

Char. \_Laughing~\ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! How proud 
the Prince would be 

Of such a bride; well, I shall be delighted 
To come to court, whenever I’m invited. 

[ Makes a very low courtesy. 
Perhaps, Ulrica, we shall have the honor 
To be her train-bearers, and wait upon her. 
Ulrica. We humbly bid your majesty adieu ! 

[ Exeunt Charlotte and Ulrica. 
Cind. [ Throws down her work and comes forward ] 
So, they may scoff, but if they only knew 
I am the owner of that little shoe, 

Their tone would change. I am resolved 
to go, 

Whether I can see my godmother or no. 
No one can get that slipper on but me, 
And here ’s the other. [ Takes it out of her 
pocket ] So the Prince can see 
I ’m no imposter, though my dress is mean ; 
Then, if he keeps his word, I shall be queen. 

[Exit. 


CINDERELLA. 


129 


Scene VIII: — A room in the palace, Ulrica, Char- 
lotte, and Muley are on the stage. Charlotte 
is trying to get on the slipper , the others standing 
by. 


Char. 

Muley. 


Char. 


Muley. 


Muley. 

Cind. 

Muley. 


Cind. 

Muley. 

Cind. 

Muley. 


I ’ll try the other foot. 

Nay, madam, nay, 
It would not do if you should try all day ; 
You are the twentieth lady that has tried, 
And there are many waiting now outside. 

[ Discontentedly ] Weil, I must give it up, 
then, I suppose. 

[She gives the shoe to Muley, takes her sis- 
ter's arm , and they go off. 

I think you ’d better — ha ! ha ! ha ! there 
goes 

Another would-be queen. ’Tis strange to 
see 

How people are misled by vanity. 

[ Enter Cinderella. 
Well, girl, what now? This is no place for 
you. 

Sir, if you please to let me try the shoe, 

I think it would fit me. 

Why, child, you ’re mad ; 
Or else impertinent, which is as bad. 

I understood that any one might try. 

Not kitchen maids, my dear, decidedly. 
Why, it could do no harm — 

[Laughing] Upon my word 


130 


CINDERELLA. 


You are a saucy baggage — how absurd ! 

I can’t help laughing — well, then, there, sit 
down, 

A likely lass, indeed, to wear a crown. 

[Enter Prince ; he looks fixedly at Cinder- 
ella, who puts on the slipper. 

Prince. That face reminds me of my lady love. 

Muley. Why it goes on as easy as a glove ! 

Prince. [Advancing eagerly'] What do you say? — 
the slipper fits this maid? 

Muley. It does indeed, your Highness, I ’m afraid ; 

Yet more than twenty ladies have in vain 

Made the attempt. 

Prince. [Aside] Then it is very plain 

That fate intends this damsel for my bride. 

Muley [Aside] It is a thousand pities that she tried. 

[Enter Ulrica and Charlotte ; they are 
astonished at seeing Cinderella. 

Ulrica. Why, how is this ? How dare you be so 
bold 

As to come here. 

Cind. Nay, sister, do not scold ; 

I thought it was no harm to come and see 

If the glass slipper would not do for me. 

Ulrica. [In a passion] For you, indeed ; a dirty 
kitchen maid ! 

Go home and mind your work, you saucy 
jade. 

Prince. [Approaching Cinderella] Pray, madam, 
tell me who and what you are. 


CINDERELLA. 


131 


Cind. Prince, I was once a little evening star, 

That with a borrowed luster faintly shone 
In these bright halls, awhile, and then was 
gone. 

Prince. I ’m still bewildered. How, in this poor 
dress, 

Am I to recognize my fair princess ? 

Char. Your Royal Highness, ’t is an imposition; 
This is a girl of very low condition ; 

She is our servant, though her foot is 
small, 

And never in her life was at a ball. 

Prince. \_To Cinderella] I’d give all I’m worth 
to prove it true, 

That this glass slipper does belong to you. 
Cind. Here is the proof. [ Shows the other shoe. 
Muley. [Aside] The fellow slipper ! Truly 

She is a witch, or my name is not Muley. 

[Enter Fairy. 

Cind. Ah ! my kind, good old godmother is here ; 

Now, then, indeed, I have no more to fear. 
Fairy. Pray stand aside, good folks, and let me see 
If I can solve this mighty mystery. 

Come hither, Cinderella ; prythee throw 
Aside those rags, my pretty child, and show 
That you are no imposter ; but may prove 
Quite worthy of this noble Prince’s love. 
[Cinderella throws off her old gown and 
appears in the ball dress , having already 
put on the other slipper. 


132 


CINDERELLA. 


Prince. It is herself indeed ! 

Muley. What shall I do? 

I called her wench, and saucy baggage, too. 

[ The Prince takes the hand of Cinderella, 
and they stand in the center, the Fairy 
on one side of them , a little in advance ; 
the two sisters on the other side , at a little 
distance , hanging down their heads in 
confusion Muley near the Prince’s 
elbow , rather behind. 

Fairy. Prince, I ’m a fairy, and I hither came 

To raise the humble, and the proud to 
shame ; 

In Cinderella you ’ve a charming bride. 

Her goodness and her patience have been 
tried. 

You will be happy, both — But, \to the sisters ] 
ladies, you 

Will meet the punishment that is your due. 

Scorned and neglected, it shall be your fate 

To envy Cinderella’s happier state. 

Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

Prince. — White trowsers ; a coat, red, or light blue, with a full 
skirt down to the knees, and a border of gold paper; a 
black velvet cap and white ostrich feather, and some glit- 
tering ornament in front; a scarf tied over one shoulder, 
and a lace collar turned down. 


CINDERELLA. 


133 


Muley. — Ordinary dress, with a short cloak of some gay color. 

Baroness. — A high turban ; a silk dress ; and a thin shawl, or 
lace cloak. 

Ulrica and Charlotte. — At first morning dresses; afterward 
fancy ball dresses. 

Cinderella. — A long, loose gown of dark stuff, or cotton, with 
long sleeves ; this must go over the ball dress, and be made 
open in front, and fasten round the waist with a band, that 
it may be easily thrown off ; the ball dress may be white, 
ornamented with flowers and white satin ribbon, or silver 
ribbon ; some glittering ornaments may be added ; white 
shoes, covered with silver ribbon, might be made to repre- 
sent glass slippers. 

Fairy. — A cloak and hood, and a short wand. See, also, the 
vignette, on page 113. 


PROPERTIES. 

A low stool; a clean apron; a dressing-table; a looking- 
glass ; two tall candles ; a wreath of flowers ; a sofa ; a piano ; 
a"tumbler, or bell; a book; and objects to represent a pumpkin; 
two traps ; the glass slippers ; and four lizards ; bouquet. 


SUGGESTIONS. 

The pumpkin may be represented by a great ball, about three 
feet in circumference, made in eight sections of green and yel- 
low calico, and stuffed with wool. Small bird cages may be 
used for traps. The lizards can be made of green paper. 

Scene Fourth, representing a court ball, should be made as 
brilliant as possible with lights, festoons of flowers, and 
drapery. Some of the young ladies and gentlemen from 
the audience, might assist by going upon the stage to dance, 
as the company should appear numerous. It is easy to provide 


134 


CINDERELLA. 


a number of colored gauze scarfs, ribbons, and flowers, to 
decorate these extra performers. The sound of the clock may 
be imitated by striking on a tumbler or a bell. 

As this play is rather lengthy, the action should proceed 
briskly, and without waste of time between scenes. 

Muley’s part demands some comic talent. The haughtiness 
of the baroness, and the vanity of her daughters, should be 
displayed as much by action as by word. 




RIGMAROLE. 


135 



IGMAEOLE. 


Adapted from Miss L. M. Alcotis Little 
Women. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Brooke. Kate. Ned. 

Frank. Fred. Meg. 

Laurie. Amy. Jo. 

Sallie. 


Scene : — A parlor . The characters seated so as to 
present a pleasing spectacle to audience ; Laurie 
near Jo, and Brooke near Meg. 

Laurie. Well, what shall we do next? 

Jo. Have games while we rest. I brought Au- 
thors, and I dare say Miss Kate knows something 
new and nice. Go and ask her, Laurie, [aside'] she’? 
company, and you ought to stay with her more. 

Laurie. Aren’t you company, too? I thought 
she ’d suit Brooke, but he keeps talking to Meg, and 
Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous 
glass of hers. 

Jo. How, Laurie, — 


RIGMAROLE. 


13(5 

Laurie . I ’m going, so you need n’t try to preach 
propriety. Miss Kate, can you help us to a new 

play? 

Kate. I shall be most happy if I can. Perhaps 
you would like Rigmarole. 

Laurie. Tell us how to play it. 

Jo. Yes, do. 

Kate. One person begins a story, any nonsense 
you like, and tells as long as he pleases, only 
taking care to stop short at some exciting point, 
when the person he looks at takes it up and does 
the same. It ’s very funny, when well done, and 
makes a perfect jumble of tragical, comical stuff to 
laugh over. 

Laurie. Let ’s have Rigmarole, by all means. 

Kate. Please start it, Mr. Brooke. 

Brooke. Once on a time, a knight went out into 
the world to seek his fortune, for he had nothing 
hut his sword and his shield. He traveled a long 
while, nearly eight and twenty years, and had a hard 
time of it, till he came to the palace of a good old 
king, who had offered a reward to any one who 
would tame and train a fine, but unbroken colt, of 
which he was very fond. 

The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but 
surely; for the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon 
learned to love his new master, though he was 
freakish and wild. Every day when he gave his 
lessons to this pet of the king’s, the knight rode 
him through the city; and, as he rode, he looked 


RIGMAROLE. 


137 


every -where for a certain beautiful face, which he 
had seen many times in his dreams, but never found. 
One day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, 
he saw at the window of a ruinous castle the lovely 
face. He was delighted ; inquired who lived in this 
castle, and was told that several captive princesses 
were kept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay 
up money to buy their liberty. 

The knight wished intensely that he could free 
them ; but he was poor, and could only go by 
each day, watching for the sweet face, and longing 
to see it out in the sunshine. At last he resolved to 
get into the castle and ask how he could help them. 
He went and knocked ; the great door flew open, 
and he beheld — [Looking at Kate. 

Kate. A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, 
with a cry of rapture, “At last! at last!” “’Tis 
she,” cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an 
ecstasy of joy. “ Oh, rise !” she said, extending a 
hand of marble fairness. “ Hever ! till you tell me 
how I may rescue you,” swore the knight, still 
kneeling. “Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to 
remain here till my tyrant is destroyed.” “ Where 
is the villain ?” “ In the mauve salon ; go, brave 

heart, and save me from despair.” “I obey, and 
return victorious or dead !” With these thrilling 
words he rushed away, and, flinging open the door 
of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he 
received — [Looking at Hed. 

Ned. A stunning blow from the big Greek lex- 


a t . 12. 


138 


RIGMAROLE. 


icon, which an old fellow, in a black gown, fired at 
him. Instantly Sir What’s-his-name recovered him- 
self, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and 
turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump 
on his brow; found the door locked, tore up the 
curtains, made a rope ladder, got half way down 
when the ladder broke, and* he went head first into 
the moat, sixty feet below ; could swim like a duck, 
paddled round the castle till he came to a little door 
guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads 
together till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, 
by a trifling exertion of his prodigious strength, he 
smashed the door, went up a pair of stone steps 
covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your 
fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hys- 
terics, Miss March. [To Jo] At the top of these steps 
he came plump upon a sight that took his breath 
away and chilled his blood — [ Looking at Meg. 

Meg. A tall figure, all in white, with a vail over 
its face, and a lamp in its wasted hand ; it beckoned, 
gliding noiselessly before him down a corridor, as 
dark and cold as a tomb. Shadowy effigies, in armor, 
stood on either side, a dead silence reigned; the 
lamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure, ever and 
anon turned its face toward him, showing the glit- 
ter of awful eyes through its white vail. They 
reached a curtained door, behind which sounded 
lovely music; he sprang forward to enter, hut the 
specter plucked him hack, and waved threateningly 
before him a— [Looking at Jo. 


RIGMAROLE. 


139 


Jo. [In a mock sepulchral voice\ Snuff-box. [All 
laugh at Jo’s tragical appearance. She then goes on 
in her natural voice ] “ Thankee,” said the knight, 

politely, as he took a pinch, and sneezed seven times 
so violently that his head fell off. “ Ha ! ha !” 
laughed the ghost ; and, having peeped through the 
key-hole at the princess spinning away for dear life, 
the evil spirit picked up her victim and put him in 
a large tin box, where there were eleven other 
knights packed together without their heads, like 
sardines, who all rose and began to — 

[. Looking at Fred. 

Fred. Dance a hornpipe, and as they danced, the 
rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full 
sail. “IJp with the jib, reef the tops’l halliards, 
helm hard the lee, and man the guns,” roared the 
captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a 
flag black as ink flying from her foremast. “ Go in 
and win, my hearties,” says the captain ; and a 
tremendous fight began. Of course the British beat, 
they always do ; and having taken the pirate captain 
prisoner, sailed slap over the schooner, where decks 
were piled with dead, and whose lee-scuppers ran 
blood, for the order had been “ Cutlasses, and die 
hard.” 

“ Bosen’s mate, take a bight of the flying-jib- 
sheet, and start this villain, if he don’t confess 
his sins, double quick,” said the British captain. 
The Portuguese held his tongue like a brick, and 
walked the plank, while the jolly tars cheered like 


140 


RIGMAROLE. 


mad. But the sly dog dived, came up under the 
man-of-war, scuttled her, and down she went, with 
all sail set, “To the bottom of the sea, sea, sea,” 
where — [ Looking at Sallie. 

Sallie. Oh, gracious! what shall I say? Well, 
they went to the bottom, and a nice mermaid wel- 
comed them; for, being a woman, she was curious. 
By and by a diver came down, and the mermaid 
said, “ I ’ll give you a box of j>earls if you can take 
it up for she wanted to restore the poor things to 
life, and could n’t raise the heavy load herself. So the 
diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed, on 
opening it up, to find no pearls. He left it in a 
great lonely field, where it was found by a — 

[. Looking at Amy. 

Amy. Little goose-girl, who kept a hundred fat 
geese in the field. The little girl was sorry for 
them, and asked an old woman what she should do 
to help them. “ Your geese will tell you ; they know 
every thing,” said the old woman. So she asked 
what she should use for new heads, since the old 
ones were lost, and all the geese opened their hun- 
dred mouths, and screamed — 

[. Looking at Laurie. 

Laurie. Cabbages ! “ Just the thing,” said the 

girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her gar- 
den. She put them on, the knights revived at once, 
thanked her, and went on their way rejoicing, never 
knowing the difference, for there were so many 
other heads like them in the world, that no one 


RIGMAROLE. 


141 


thought any thing of it. The knight in whom I’m 
interested went back to find the pretty face, and 
learned that the princesses had spun themselves free, 
and all had gone to be married but one. 

He was in a great state of mind at that ; and, 
mounting the colt, who stood by him through thick 
and thin, rushed to the castle to see which was left. 
Peeping over the bridge, he saw the queen of his 
affections picking flowers in her garden. “ Will you 
give me a rose?” said he. “ You must come and get 
it; I can’t come to you; it is n’t proper,” said she, as 
sweet as honey. 

He tried to climb over the hedge, but it seemed 
to grow higher and higher, then he tried to push 
through, but it grew thicker and thicker, and he 
was in despair. So he patiently broke twig after 
twig r till he had made a little hole, through which 
he peeped, saying imploringly, “ Let me in ! let me 
in !” But the pretty princess did not seem to under- 
stand, for she picked her roses quietly, and left him 
to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank 
will tell you. [ Looking at Frank. 

Frank. I can’t; I’m not playing. I never do. 

[In a dismayed manner. 

Brooke. So the poor knight is to be left sticking 
in the hedge, is he ? 

Laurie. I guess the princess gave him a posy, 
and opened the gate after awhile. 

Sallie. What a piece of nonsense we have made. 
With practice we might do something quite clever. 


142 


RIGMAROLE. 


Jo. Well, we’re rested now. Let’s go back to 
the croquet ground. [Rising. 

Frank. Agreed ! Come on, and see Jo make a 
booby of herself. [Exeunt. 


REMARKS. 

This piece should be thoroughly committed, and rendered 
with vivacity. It may be acted by girls only, if it is thought 
desirable. 


THE FAGS’ HE VOLT. 


143 



T 


HE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


Dramatized from School Days at Rugby. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Tom Brown, a school-boy at Rugby. 
Jem East, nicknamed Scud , his friend. 
Will Hall, nicknamed the Tadpole. 
Flasiiman, a bully , who comes to grief . 
Diggs, who believes in fair play. 


Snooks, an ally of Flashman. 
Greene, a companion of Snooks. 
Other Boys. 


Scene I : — Tom and East’s study. East lying on a 
sofa reading Pickwick ; Tom seated at a table 
resting his head upon his hand in gloomy thought ; 
he rouses himself, snuffs the candle, and addresses 
East. 

Tom. I say, Scud, what right have the fifth -form 
boys to fag us as they do ? 

East. [ Without looking up from his book ] No 
more right than you have to fag them. 

Tom. \_After a long pause, during which East goes 
on reading and chuckling~\ Do you know, old fellow, 
I ’vo been thinking it over a good deal — 


144 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


East. Oh, yes, I know ; fagging you ’rc thinking 
of. Hang it all, — but listen here, Tom, — here ’s fun, 
[reading aloud ] “Mr. Winkle’s horse — ” 

Tom. [ Interrupting again] And I’ve made up 
my mind that I won’t fag, except for the sixth. Let 
the fifth-form fellows go for their own beer and 
bread and cheese; and clean candlesticks, put in 
new candles, toast cheese, bottle beer, and carry 
messages for themselves. I say [with emphasis ] I 
won’t fag any more for the fifth. 

East. [Looking up] Quite right, too, my boy; 
but a pretty peck of troubles you ’ll get into, if 
you ’re going to play that game. However, I ’m all 
for a strike myself, if we can get others to join — 
it ’s getting too bad. 

Tom. Can’t we get some sixth -form fellow to 
take it up? 

East. Well, perhaps, we might; Morgan would 
interfere, I think. [A pause] Only, you see, we 
should have to tell him about it, and that’s against 
school principles. Don’t you remember what old 
Brooke said about learning to take our own part? 

Tom. Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again — it 
was all right in his time. 

East. Why, yes, you see, then the strongest and 
best fellows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fel- 
lows were afraid of them, and they kept good order; 
but now our sixth-form fellows are too small, and 
the fifth do n’t care for them and do what they like 
in the house. 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


145 


Tom. [ Indignantly ] And so we get a double set 
of masters, the lawful ones, and the unlawful — the 
tyrants, who are responsible to nobody. 

East. [Rising] Down with the tyrants ! I ’m all 
for law and order, and hurrah for a revolution! 

Tom. There is that blackguard, Flashman, who 
never speaks to one without a kick or an oath — 

East. The cowardly brute ; how I hate him ! and 
he knows it too, he knows that you and I think him 
a coward. What a bore that he has a study in this 
passage. Don’t you hear them now at supper in 
his den? Brandy punch going, I ’ll bet. I wish the 
Doctor would come out and catch him. We must 
change our study as soon as we can. 

Tom. Change or no change, I ’ll never fag for 
him again. [Strikes the table with his fist. 

Flashman. [From without ] Fa-a-a-ag ! [Tom and 
East stare at each other in silence] Fa-a-a-ag ! If ere, 
Brown ! East ! you cursed young skulks, I know 
you ’re in — no shirking. 

[Tom steals to the door and bolts it. 

East. [Blows out the candle] Barricade the first ! 
Now, Tom, mind, no surrender. 

Tom. [Between his teeth] Trust me for that. 

[Noise without of Flashman and his friends. 

Flashman. I know you young brutes are in. 
Open the door. [They pound against the door. 

Snooks. They’re in, safe enough — don’t you see 
how the door holds at top and bottom? They have 
fastened the bolts. 


S. T. 13. 


14G 


THE FAGS’ KEVOLT. 


[Renewed attacks are made on the door , against which 
Tom and East press the end of their sofa ; after a 
few minutes of ineffectual battering the besiegers 
retire. Tom and East listen till the enemy is out 
of hearing , then open the door. 

East. Now, then, stand by for a run. lie would 
not mind killing one of us if he wouldn’t be found 
out. [j Exeunt running. 

Scene II : — A large room , with a table and a bench ; 
a group of boys in front of an open fire ; Higgs 
lying on a bench at one side of the room. 

ls£ Boy. Have you seen Brown and East to-day ? 
They ’re in for it, now. The war ’s begun. [Enter 
Hall] Hallo, Tadpole, have you joined the rebels ? 

Hall. Yes; haven’t you? Now is our time, or 
never. 

2d Boy. It’s no use. That Flashman and his 
friends are too strong for us. 

3 d Boy. I ’m in for war ! Things can’t be worse 
for us than now. [Enter Tom and East] Hallo, 
here come the revolutionary forces. Hurrah ! 

Hall. What do you mean to do, Brown ? 

Brown. I Ve a good mind to go to the Doctor and 
lay our grievances before him. 

3 d Boy. That ’ll never do. 

East. Well, then, let ’s try the sixth. Try Mor- 
gan. 

Several Voices. Blabbing won’t do. 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


147 


Diggs. I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice. 
[Gets up , shakes himself , and walks slowly forward ] 
Do n’t you go to any body at all — you just stand 
out ; say you won’t fag— they ’ll soon get tired of 
licking you. I ’ve tried it on years ago with their 
fore-runners. 

Brown. No, did you? 

Boys. Tell us how it was. 

[They cluster around him. 

Biggs. ‘Well, just as it is with you. The fifth- 
form would fag us, and I and some more struck, and 
we beat them. The good fellows left off directly, 
and the bullies who kept on soon got afraid. 

Hall. Was Flashman here then? 

Biggs. Yes, and a dirty, little, sniveling, sneaking 
fellow he was, too. He never dared join us, and 
used to toady the bullies by offering to fag for them, 
and peaching against the rest of us. 

Brown, lie laid wait and caught me this morning, 
and told me to fetch his hat. I wouldn’t do it, and 
he twisted my arm and pulled my ears. He could n’t 
make me cry, though, and I kicked his shins well, 
I know. 

Biggs. That’s right. Do all you fellows show 
the same spunk, and you ’ll not be molested long. 
Pluck ’s the word. [Exit. 

East. Well, Tom, what do you say? 

Brown. I say, fight. All of you fellows, who are 
willing to take old Diggs’s advice, say I. 

Boys. I. [Bell rings. 


148 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


1st Boy. There’s our bell. We must go. 

[ Exeunt all , but East and Tom, who come to the front. 

East. I say, Tom, things are growing lively for 
us. 

Tom. Yes, it is rather warm ; but, then, we ’re in 
the right, and the right must win at last. 

East. Y r es, that’s so; at least right must win if 
backed by what Biggs calls pluck. 

[While they are talking Flashman, Snooks, and 
Greene enter from behind , and advance on tiptoe. 

Tom. I’m not much surprised at all this, East; 
father told me what I must expect when I left home. 
I remember his very words : “ Tom,” said he, “ if 

schools are what they were in my time, you ’ll see a 
great many cruel, blackguard things done, and hear 
a deal of foul, bad talk ; but, never fear, you tell 
the truth, and keep a brave and kind heart, and 
never listen to or say any thing you would n’t have 
your mother and sister hear, and you ’ll never feel 
ashamed to come home, or we to see you.” As to 
that Flashman — 

Flashman. [Seizing Tom from behind , while Snooks 
and Greene seize East] Well, what “as to that 
Flashman ?” 

Tom. [Breaks away, and faces Flashman] Why, 
that Flashman is a bully and a coward ! 

Flashman. [Tauntingly'] He is, is he? Then he 
might as well enjoy the benefit of his titles. [He 
whistles , and three other boys enter] Let me intro- 
duce you to some friends of the coward and bully. 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


149 


Gentlemen, let me present my very dear young 
friends, Tommy Ratsbane and Jimmy Peppersauce ! 

Tom. [ Furiously ] Coward, and captain of cow- 
ards ! I ’ll fight you all. 

East. [, Struggling ] Let me go, let me go ! 

Snooks. Oh, no, Peppersauce ] you might burn 
somebody. 

Flashman. He isn’t the ringleader. This little 
scoundrel is at the bottom of the rebellion. See 
here. Master Tom Brown, or Brown Tom, or what- 
ever you call yourself, I want you to make me just 
one promise, and that is, that you ’ll fag for me 
hereafter without hesitation. 

Tom. I won’t promise ! 

Greene. We ’ll make you. 

Tom. You can’t. 

Flashman. We’ll see! Surround him fellows. 
[Snooks and Greene let East go, and the six bullies 
close around Tom and hold him fast ] You say you 
won’t fag for me ! 

Tom. Ho, I won’t ! 

Flashman. Very well, then, let’s roast him. 

East. Ho, no, do n’t do that. 

[Flashman and Greene drag Tom toward the fire. 

Flashman. Will you promise? 

Tom. Ho. 

East. [Aside'] I’ll run for Biggs. Hold out a 
minute longer, Tom. [ Runs out. 

Greene. Ha ! ha ! Peppersauce runs away ! How 
these brave rebels help each other. 


150 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


Flasliman. Hold his legs, Greene. Now, Snooks, 
back with him ; closer, closer. [ They push his shoul- 
ders against the mantlepiece, and hold him before the 
ftre~\ Will you promise now? 

[Tom groans and struggles. 

Snooks. I say, Flashy, he ’s had enough. 

Jflashman. No, no ; another turn will do it. 

Snooks. [Letting go his hold ] He ’s fainting. He ’s 
pale as death. [Enter Higgs. 

Diggs. You cowardly brutes. [Catches Tom in 
his arms; the others shrink away~\ Good God! he is 
dying ! Here, get some cold water. 

[Snooks runs for some water. Enter East excited. 

East. Is he much hurt ? 

Diggs. He ’s insensible. [Looking at Flashman] 
Get out of this hall, sir — you and your brutal com- 
panions ! Out with you ! Slink to your kennels ! 

[The bullies sneak away. Enter Snooks, with water. 

Snooks. I hn sick of this work. What brutes 
we ’ve been. 

Diggs. Yes, you have. Here, lend a hand. Let ’s 
carry him to the sick room. 

Tom. [Faintly~\ Where am I ? 

East. Tom, do n’t you know us ? It ’s Higgs and I. 

Tom. Ah ! I remember now. [Sloicly recovers. 

Diggs. Hadn’t we better carry you to the sick 
room ? 

Tom. Oh, no ! I can walk now. 

Snooks. By George, he ’s the stanchest little fel- 
low I ever saw. 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


151 


East. Are you much hurt, dear old boy ? 

Tom. Only the back of my legs. But I did n’t 
give in, did I ? [Exit Tom, between East and Diggs. 

Snooks. I wish some body ’d roast me ! I ought 
to be roasted, and boiled, and fried. I ought to 
have been made with four legs and a snout. 

Scene III: — The same. East and Tom mending a 
broken bat. 

East. Do you feel as well as you did two days 
ago? 

Tom. Yes, quite. Things seem to have turned 
in our favor. All of the boys, who helped to roast 
me, except Flashman, came in next day and begged 
my pardon. Old Snooks asked me if I would n’t do 
him the honor to kick him. 

East. Snooky is queer, is n’t he ? Did you know 
that Diggs struck Flashman yesterday? 

Tom. No; did he? Did Flashman return the 
blow? 

East. Not a bit of it. He knows whom to at- 
tack and whom to let alone. 

Tom. He seems to be an intolerable tyrant. There 
he comes now. 

[Enter Flashman; he walks rudely between the boys , 
boxing East on the head. 

East. What ’s that for ? 

Flashman. Because I choose. You’ve no busi- 
ness here. Go to your study. 


152 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


0 

Tom. You can’t send us. 

Flashman. Can’t I ? Then I ’ll thrash you if you 
stay. [ Enter Diggs from back of stage ] Come, be 
off! 

Tom. Flashman, why do you persecute us ? 
Flashman. Get out ! go to your study. 

Diggs. I say, you two, — you ’ll never get rid of 
that fellow till you lick him. Go in at him, both of 
you, — I ’ll see fair play. 

Flashman. What business is it of yours ? 

Diggs. [Putting his hands in his pockets ] Pluck ’s 
the word, boys. Pitch in. 

Fast. [To Tom] Shall we try? 

Tom. [. Desperately ] Yes ! 

[They take off their coats, and cautiously advance . 
Flashman. You impudent young blackguards ! 
[They rush upon him and pummel him. He strikes out 
wildly and savagely. At length Tom is hurled to 
floor. Flashman turns to East. 

Diggs. Stop there, — the round ’s over, — half- 
minute’s time alloAved. 

Flashmam. Who made you umpire ? 

Diggs. I ’m going to see fair play, I tell you. 
[Grins and snaps his fingers ] ’T aint fair for you to 
be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready, 
Brown? Time’s up. 

[Boys rush in. Flashman takes East by the throat 
and tries to force him down ; Tom grasps Flash- 
man around the waist; the three struggle a mo- 
ment and then fall , Flashman under ; Tom and 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


153 


% 

East spring up ; Flashman remains lying ; Tom 
stoops over him. 

Tom. He ’s bleeding awfully ; come here, East ! 
Diggs, — he ’s dying! 

Biggs. [ Indifferently ] Hot he; it’s all sham — 
he ’s only afraid to fight it out. 

East. Ho ; he is hurt, Diggs. 

[Diggs lifts up Flashman’s head ; Flashman groans. 
Biggs. What’s the matter? 

Flashman. My skull’s fractured. [ Groans . 

Tom. Oh, let me run for the Doctor ! What shall 
we do? 

Biggs. Fiddlesticks ! [ Feeling Flashman’s head~\ 

It ’s nothing but the skin broken. Cold water and 
a bit of rag is all he ’ll want. 

Flashman. [Sitting up~] Let me go. I don’t want 
your help. 

East. We ’re really very sorry — 

Flashman. Hang your sorrow. [ Rising ] You 
shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you. 

[Exit. 

Tom. He can’t be very bad, or he could n’t walk 
so well. 

Biggs. Hot he; and you’ll see you won’t be 
troubled any more. [Cheering without. 

East. I wonder what that means. More cam- 
paigning ? 

[Enter Hall, and the small hoys who appeared at the 
beginning of Scene II., with Snooks in their 
midst. 


15-1 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


Hall. News, fellow patriots, news ! our revolution 
has already produced good results. Snooks, one of 
our late enemies, but now our friend, is the bearer 
of important messages. 

East. Let us hear from Snooks. 

Boys. Snooks, Snooks, Snooks. 

Snooks. All I have to say is, that we, the fifth- 
form fellows, have just held a meeting, and have 
agreed to two things. First, to use all our influence 
to abolish the whole fagging system ; [applause] 
second, to break up, as far as we can, the abominable 
practice of roasting. [Renewed applause. 

Diggs. You see, boys, how the resolute conduct 
of a few, not only changes public sentiment, but 
speedily reforms public abuses. 

Hall. There ’s no telling how long we might 
have been tormented, had it not been for Tom and 
Scud, there. 

Snooks. That ’s so ; you chaps owe every thing to 
Batsbane arid Peppersauce. 

East. No, indeed, — my share of the honor is 
small. Tom is our martyr, and Biggs our protector. 
Three cheers for Biggs. [Boys cheer. 

Diggs. Thank you, lads. But I agree with the 
little fellow that spoke a bit ago, — 

Boys. Tadpole ? 

Diggs. Yes, Tadpole, — I agree with him that 
East and Brown are the great heroes in this war. 
Brown knows something about both fagging and 
roasting, and he, for one, ought to rejoice in the 


THE FAGS’ REVOLT. 


155 


message that Snooks has just brought. How is it, 
Brown ? 

Tom. Well, hoys, I confess that I don’t particu- 
larly enjoy being roasted, and I do n’t think any of 
you would. I ’m sure I hope the fifth will stick to 
their good resolutions. If they do, we will all have 
reason to be glad that we took part in The Fags’ 
Revolt. 

Curtain. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

The representation of a fire-place, required in Scene Second, 
may easily be drawn and painted on a large screen of paper or 
muslin stretched on a frame, or suspended like a curtain at the 
rear of the stage. 

The fighting scene should be acted with spirit and energy, 
but not over-acted, or continued too long. Every movement 
should be studied and rehearsed. 

The fagging system is still practiced to some extent in 
England. The word “ form,” as used in this play, means nearly 
the same as grade or class. 


156 


THICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 



HICKS IN A 


Doctor Crucible, a scientific physician. 
Bob Jolliboy, a student of medicine. 
Andy McFlaherty, a serving-man. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


Scene : — A doctor's office with table , and shelves with 
bottles , etc.; Bob discovered with an open book 
before him , and a human skull in his hand. 

Bob. Let me see, what’s this bone? [ Glances at 
book ] Oh, yes, occipital. One occipital bone; one 
frontal ; two parietal bones ; two temporal ; two 
upper maxillary ; one lower maxillary, — Pshaw, 
what’s the use of learning all of these abominable 
names ? A skull would smell as sweet by any other 
name. Here is your genuine dead-head. ’T aint an 
over beautiful object. Wonder whose old cranium 
this was? Doctor Crucible says it was once the 
private property of an Indian. Your scalping days 
are over, noble red-skin. I ’ve had enough osteology 
for to-day ; so get out of the way, superannuated 
brain box. Here comes the doctor’s new man. Hey, 
Andy, how are you this morning? [ Enter Andy] 
Have you seen the doctor? 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


157 


Andy. Faith, and I belave he wint away this 
morning before he started ; for he ate his breakfast 
before Biddy could get a males victuals for ’im. 

Bob. He did, eh ? When do you expect him in ? 

Andy. Sure, I do n’t know ; but he towld me to 
wait in the office until he rethurned, and I belave 
he ’ll be back by that time. 

Bob. Very likely. Does he pay you pretty well, 
Andy ? 

Andy. You may say that same ; for the master 
says so long as I keep steady at work I can earn 
enough to live idle half the time. 

Bob. Good for Doctor Crucible. Do you ever 
drink any thing stronger than tea, Andy? 

Andy. Ah, my boy, it ’s a big heart ye carry 
under your jacket. If you’re ever in want of a 
friend jist call on Andy McFlaherty. [Bob takes a 
bottle of aqua ammonia from shelf ] It isn’t often I 
drink, and I never make a baste of myself, but 
seem’ it ’s you, Master Bobert, I ’ll not be so impolite 
as to refuse to take a leetle drop. Is it whisky, 
now ? 

Bob. \_Shaking the bottle ] There, Andy, is the 
drink. It will do a man’s heart good. 

Andy. [ Looking icistfully ] Faith, I belave ye. 
What would ye be callin’ ’im ? 

Bob. It ’s something new in the liquor line. It ’s 
called terhydride of nitrogen by the scientific. The 
vulgar call it aqua ammonia. A single dram has 
more effect th,an a pint of gin, and one good smell 


158 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


is enough to make a fellow boozy. Just put your 
nose to that and draw a long breath. 

[Holds out bottle. 

Andy. [ Politely ] Afther you, Misther Bobert ; 
afther yer honor. 

Bob. [ With extreme courtesy - ] No, no; I took a 
sniff just before you came in. Do n’t be backward. 
Make haste, I see the doctor coming. Take a smell. 
[Andy smells, jerks Ms head back , and sneezes violently] 
What’s the matter, Andy? Does it fly into your 
head so soon? Here, take another turn. 

Andy. [. Motioning him away] Not any, not any ; 
a tay-spoonful mixed wid a gallon of air would be 
too much. Put it away — put it away — here is the 
doctor. [Enter Doctor Crucible. 

Bob. Good morning, doctor. 

Doctor. Good morning, Bobert ; I will hear you 
recite presently. Andy, there is a bottle of sulphuric 
acid in the carriage, which I want you to bring 
here and empty into this bottle with the glass fun- 
nel in it. Be careful not to spill any, and be quick. 
But first come and help me a moment in the hall. 

[Exeunt Doctor and Andy. 

Bob. He ’s to fill this black bottle with sulphuric 
acid. Now for another practical joke. Suppose I 
put this strong solution of bicarbonate of soda into 
the bottle. [He does so] Now, I ’d like to see Andy 
fill that with sulphuric acid, and not spill any. 

[Goes out. Enter Andy, with bottle. 

Andy. [Self -complacently] Sure, docs n’t the doc- 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


159 


tor trust me to be doin’ what belongs to a regular 
physicianer? McFlaherty’s the boy to be in the 
office. Before I impty the doctor’s bottle, I’ll jist 
see if the medicine tastes well. [ Takes out stopper 
and touches it to his tongue; spits violently'] Arrah, 
botheration take ye, to bite a body in that way. Ye 
taste stronger than fire and brimstone. Now go into 
the other bottle, and don’t ye spill. Aisy, aisy, in 
ye go. [Pours in the acid; chemical action ensues] 
Oh, bad luck, I never heard of a bottle with so weak 
a stomach. Hold in, ye spalpeen ; do n’t be throwin’ 
up the doctor’s stuff in that way ! Hold in, I say ! 
Oh, murther ! [Enter Bob. 

Boh. What ’s the matter, Andy ? 

Andy. [Ruefully] Ho n’t ye be laughin at a fel- 
low crayther in trouble. Look there at the obstinate 
bottle. The divil can’t fill ’im. The more I pour 
in, the more he belches. 

[Shakes his fist at bottle. Enter Hr. Crucible. 

Dr. C. What ’s the difficulty, Andy ? 

Andy. I don’t know, do you? The bottle won’t 
swallow. His constitution won’t stand the dose. 
Sure, I belave he ’s got the dyspepsia. 

Dr. C. Why, here ’s some mistake ; did n’t you 
change the bottle ? 

Andy. No, indade, upon my sowl. 

•Dr. C. Bobert, this is some trick of yours. 

Bob. Hoctor, I beg pardon, — I could n’t resist the 
temptation to put some carbonate of soda in the 
bottle. 


leo 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


Andy. Young man, if ye try any more of your 
tricks upon me, I ’ll be try in’ a bit of sliillalali upon 
your sconce. Do ye mind that? 

Dr. C. Never mind, Andy. Bob is a waggish 
fellow, but we must have no more of his practical 
jokes here. Do n’t be down-hearted about the bot- 
tle. Better luck next time. I ’d like you to help 
me make up a supply of my celebrated'bruise salve. 
Take this white powder, put it into a saucer, pour a 
few drops of sweet oil upon it, and stir the mixture. 
But first get my horse ; then clean up the office, and 
if there is any time to spare you may prejiare the 
salve. Come along with me. 

[ Exeunt Doctor and Andy. 

Bob. I think I can make an improvement in the 
Doctor’s prescription. Here is a mixture of pulver- 
ized chlorate of potash and loaf sugar. Let’s put 
that in the place of the white powder. Now, instead 
of the sweet oil I’ll put a vial of sulphuric acid. 
Now, if I can get Andy to compound some bruise 
salve, I think he ’ll be astonished at the result. Let 
me see, what other trick can I play on the fellow. 
Ah, yes; I have it. Here is the Leyden jar that 
holds a charge so long. I put a full charge in it less 
than an hour ago. I ’ll set it here on the table and 
send Andy in to get it. Perhaps he will blunder 
into an electrical experiment. 

[Exit. In a few minutes enter Andy. 

Andy. It ’s to bring the little jar on the table that 
I ’m sint. There it is. Be gorra, it ’s a queer lookin’ 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP, 


161 


lantern, now, isn’t it? Or is it a patent candy jar 
wid a brass handle? [ Takes hold of the jar , and is 
shocked; starts back , and falls over a chair\ Mur- 
tkeration ! Oh, oh, — Misther Robert, — Mistker Rob- 
ert, — be cornin’ quick — I ’m kilt, — I ’m a dead man, 
— Oh ! oh ! [Enter Bob. 

Bob . Hallo, hallo, what ’s up ? 

Andy. Bedad, ye’d better ask “what’s down!” 
Sure, I think the auld Nick is in the doctor’s shop. 
Would ye belave it, — [rubs himself , and makes wry 
faces ] the candy jar, like a dirtky blackguard, began 
to jirk me out of my clothes, without any provoca- 
tion at all ; — and I tore my coat, and hurt the fore- 
part of the calf of my leg, and bruised my ankle 
three inches above the knee. 

Bob. That ’s too bad ; I never heard of the like. 
Perhaps you ’d better try some of that bruise salve 
the doctor told you how to make. I ’ll take the 
candy jar, as you call it, myself. 

Andy. No, no, don’t go near it. It ’s a decateful, 
cowardly, blackguard, and will knock ye down if 
ye go near him. 

Bob. Oh, I hope not. [Takes jar. Exit. 

Andy. I wouldn’t have belaved it. Just as quiet 
and gintle as a lamb. I wounder what the dirty jar 
has against me. [Bubs his body and legs ] That was 
a sinsible thing the young man towld me about the 
salve. Och, Andy, let ’s see you playin’ the docther 
once. I ’ll make a beautiful mixture. Ah, here is 
the bottle with the white powder. [Pours some of 

S. T. 14, 


162 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


the chlorate of potash and sugar into a dish ] Next 
comes the swate oil. [Adds a few drops of sulphuric 
acid , which causes a violent combustion. Throws up 
his hands in amazement ; Bob, outside , laughs loudly ] 
By Saint Patrick, ye laughin’ young spalpeen, I ’ll 
hate you as sure as my name is McFlaherty. I ’ll 
play a dancin’ tune on your sconce wid my stick, 
that I will. [ Goes out , and presently returns with a 
shillalah. Bob enters at the opposite side of the stage , 
wrapped in a long white sheet , and holding high above 
his head a skull , over which the sheet is placed like a 
hood. By raising and lowering the skull , and turning 
it from side to side , a most frightful effect is produced ] 
Oh, oh, oh, good Mister Satan, I did n’t know ’t was 
you. Murther ! murther ; please let me off this 
time ! Oh, Holy Virgin ! mercy, mercy. 

[ Falling on his knees. Dr. C. enters behind Bob. 

Dr. C. What in the name of wonder is the cause 
of all this noise? 

Bob. [Discovering himself ] It is I, again, Doctor. 

Andy. You, is it ? ye plague of my life. If ye get 
away this time, you are a weasel indeed. I’ll pay 
ye wid interest, my boy It ’s Andy McFlaherty’s 
trick next. 

[Andy runs after Bob, catching the trailing sheet; the 
Doctor seizes Andy’s coat-tail; all run out to- 
gether. 


Curtain. 


TRICKS IN A DOCTOR’S SHOP. 


163 


COSTUMES. 

Andy. — Shabby-genteel coat, with tight sleeves; green-figured 
vest ; large green neck-tie ; short red hair ; high-crowned, 
felt hat, somewhat damaged. 

Doctor. — Ordinary outfit, rather precise. 

Bob. — Fashionable young gentleman’s suit. 

x PROPERTIES. 

The properties required in this piece are a table; a chair; a 
skull; a number of bottles ; a Leyden jar; a sheet; some sul- 
phuric acid ; a mixture of chlorate of potash and sugar ; some 
bicarbonate of soda ; and a shillalah. 

REMARKS. 

If skillfully managed, this little piece affords much amuse- 
ment, and some instruction. It is best exhibited in day-time, 
or, at least, in a strong light. The experiments with sulphuric 
acid require care, but are neither difficult nor dangerous, if 
rightly conducted. The Irish part should be taken only by a 
person of comic genius. 


164 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 



HE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


Dramatized from Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Mrs. Reed, a fashionable lady. 
Georg i ana, Mrs. Reeds daughter. 
Jane Eyre, Mrs. Reeds niece. 

Miss Temple, teacher at Lowood. 

Mr. Brocklehurst. 

Mr. Eyre, Jane Eyre's uncle. 

John Reed, Mrs. Reeds son. 

Bessie, Mrs. Reeds servant. 

Abbot, Mrs. Reeds servant. School Girls. 

Julia Severn, pupil at Lowood. Servant. 


Scene I : — A small breakfast room, with flowing cur- 
tains to the windows ; Jane seated in the window 
seat. Enter John Reed. 

John. Boh ! [Looks around for Jane] Madam 
Mope. Where the dickens is she? Georgie! [ Call- 
ing to his sister] Jane is not here; tell mamma she 
has run out into the rain — bad animal ! 

Jane. [. Aside ] It is very well I drew the cur- 
tains. 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


165 


Georgiana . [Putting her head in ] She is in the 
window seat, to be sure, Jack. 

Jane. [Springing out ] What do you want ? 

John. Say, “What do you want, Master Reed?” 
I want you to come here, [Seats himself in an arm- 
chair , and motions for Jane to stand before him. Jane 
does so. John regards her a few seconds with his 
tongue stuck out , and then strikes her ] That ’s for your 
impudence in answering mamma a while since, and 
for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, 
and for the look you had in your eyes two minutes 
since, you rat! What were you doing behind the 
curtains? 

Jane. I was reading. 

John. Show the book. [Jane returns to the win- 
dow and fetches the book ] You have no business to 
take our books ; you are a dependent, mamma says ; 
you have no money ; your father left you none ; you 
ought to beg, and not to live here with gentlemen’s 
children like us, and eat the same meals we do, and 
wear clothes at our mamma’s expense. Now, I ’ll 
teach you to rummage my book-shelves; for they 
are mine ; all the house belongs to me, or will 
in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of 
the way of the mirror and the windows. 

[Jane goes where he bids her. John flings the book at 
her; Jane springs aside , and cries, passionately. 

Jane. Wicked and cruel boy. You are like a 
murderer — you are like a slave-driver — you are like 
the Roman emperors ! 


166 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


John. What! What! Did she say that to me? 
Did you hear that, Georgiana? Won’t I tell mam- 
ma ! But first — 

[ Rushes at Jane, grasps her by the shoulders and hair ; 
Jane clutches him , and they struggle. 

John. [ Bellowing ] Bat ! rat ! 

[ Enter Bessie, Abbot, and Mrs. Beed. 
Bessie. Dear ! dear ! What a fury to fly at Mas- 
ter John ! 

Abbot. Did ever any one see such a picture of 
passion ? 

Mrs. Heed. Take her away to the Bed-room, and 
lock her in there. 

[Bessie and Abbot drag Jane off resisting. 

Scene II: — The same. Enter Bessie and Abbot. 

Bessie. What a queer little thing Miss Jane is! 
I never saw her do so before. 

Abbot. But it was always in her. I ’ve often told 
Mistress my opinion about that child, and Mistress 
agreed with me. She ’s an underhand little thing. 

Bessie. I ’ve seen Master John beat her many ’s 
the time, and she never raised her hand against him. 
But “even the worm will turn if trodden upon,” you 
know. 

Abbot. She ought to understand that she ’s under 
obligations to Mrs. Beed. Mrs. Beed keeps her. If 
she should turn her out, she would have to go to the 
poor-house. And she ought not to think herself on 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


1G7 


an equality with Master and Miss Becd. They will 
have a great deal of money, and she will have none. 
It is her place to he humble, and to try to make her- 
self agreeable to them, and I ’vo told her so a hun- 
dred times. 

Bessie. May he you ’re right, Abbot. But some- 
times I feel sorry for the little thing. She ’s such a 
lonely little body. The night of the party, when 
Miss and Master were dressed so beautiful down 
stairs, I peeped into the nursery ; there lay Jane in 
her little crib, hugging her doll as if it were the 
only thing in the world she had to love. She looked 
so lonesome that I stooped down and kissed her, 
and she said, sobbing and holding me tight around 
the neck, “ Bessie, you ’re the best, prettiest, and 
kindest being in the world, excejit dolly.” 

Abbot. She had some ax to grind ; I tell you she ’s 
an artful little thing. 

Bessie. May he so. I say, Abbot, [ confidentially ] 
do you think she saw the ghost in the Bed-room? I 
never heard such awful screams in my life. And 
then to fall down in a fit! 

Abbot. Likely enough. He appeared to the last 
gentleman who slept there, with his dog and gun ; 
— came right down from his picture on the wall ! 

Bessie. [. Looking scared and superstitious ] I ’d die 
of fright to he locked in there half an hour. It was 
too bad for Mistress to lock her in again, when she 
begged so hard to be let out and punished some 
other way. 


168 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


Abbot. I suppose Mistress thought she was only 
letting on. I ’m sure I did. But one can’t care 
much for a little toad like that. 

Bessie. Mot a great deal, to be sure. 

Abbot. Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh rabbit for 
supper. 

Bessie. So could I, with a roast onion. Come, 
we ’ll go down. [Exeunt. 

Scene III : — The same. Mrs. Reed seated on right 
side of fire-place at some feminine work ; an arm- 
chair on the other side; Mr. Brocklehurst 
standing in front of the fire. Enter Jane, curtesy - 
ing low. 

Mrs. Reed. This is the little girl respecting whom 
I applied to you. 

Mr. B. [Solemnly] Her size is small ; what is her 
age ? 

Mrs. Reed. Ten years. 

Mr. B. Your name, little girl ? 

Jane. Jane Eyre, sir. 

Mr. B. Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good 
child? 

Mrs. Reed. Perhaps the less said on that subject 
the better, Mr. Brocklehurst. 

Mr. B. Sorry, indeed, to hear it ! She and I 
must have some talk. [Sitting down in the arm-chair] 
Come here. [Jane steps forward , and Mr. B. places 
her straight before him] No sight so sad as that of 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


169 


a naughty girl, especially a naughty little girl. Do 
you know where the wicked go to after death ? 

Jane. They go to hell. 

Mr. B. And what is hell ? Can you tell me that ? 

Jane. A pit full of fire. 

Mr. B. And should you like to fall into that pit, 
and to be burned there forever ? 

Jane. No, sir. 

Mr. B. What must you do to avoid it? 

Jane. [Hesitates a moment ] I must keep in good 
health and not die. 

Mr. B. How can you keep in good health? Chil- 
dren younger than you die daily. I buried a little 
girl of five years old only a day or two since — a 
good child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be 
feared the same could not be said of you, were you 
to be called hence. Do you say your prayers night 
and morning? 

Jane. Yes, sir. 

Mr. B. Do you read your Bible ? 

Jane. Sometimes. 

Mr. B. With pleasure? Arc you fond of it? 

Jane. I like Revelations, and the Book of Daniel, 
and Genesis, and Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, 
and some parts of Kings, and Chronicles, and Job, 
and Jonah. 

Mr. B. And the Psalms ? I hope you like them. 

Jane. No, sir. 

Mr. B. No! Oh, shocking. I have a little boy 
younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart; 


S. T. 15 


170 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


and when you ask him which he would rather have, 
a gingerbread nut to eat, or a verse of Psalms to 
learn, he says, “Oh, the verse of Psalms ! Angels 
sing Psalms,” says he ; “I wish to he an angel here 
below he then gets two nuts in recompense for 
his infant piety. 

Mrs . Heed. Should you admit this little girl into 
Lowood school, I should be glad if the teachers 
were requested to keep a strict eye upon her, and, 
above all, to guard against her worst fault, a ten- 
dency to deceit. 

Mr. B. Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child. 

Mrs. Reed. I should wish her to be brought up 
in a manner suiting her prospects ; to be made use- 
ful, to be kept humble. 

Mr. B. Your decisions are perfectly judicious, 
madam. Humility is a Christian grace, and one 
peculiarly appropriate to the pupils of Lowood. To 
develop this, we give them plain fare, simple attire, 
unsophisticated accommodations, hardy and active 
habits. 

Mrs. Reed. I may then depend upon this child 
being received as a pupil at Lowood, and there being 
trained in conformity with her position and pros- 
pects ? 

Mr. B. Madam, you may; she shall be placed in 
that nursery of chosen plants ; and I trust that she 
will show herself grateful for the inestimable privi- 
lege of her election. 

Mrs. Reed. I will send her, then, as soon as possible. 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


171 


Mr. B. Yery well, madam. And now I wish you 
good morning. 

Mrs. Reed. Good morning, sir. 

Mr. B. [ To Jane] Little girl, here is a hook, 
entitled, “ The Child’s Guide read it with prayer, 
especially that part of it containing an account of 

the awfully sudden death of Martha G , a naughty 

child, addicted to falsehood and deceit. 

[Hands Jane a pamphlet. Exit . 

Mrs. Heed. [Surveying Jane attentively ] Go out 
of the room ; return to the nursery. 

[Jane, in extreme excitement , goes to the door , then 
hack again , then to the window , then close to Mrs. 
Eeed. 

Jane . I am not deceitful. If I were I should 
say I love you, but I declare I do not love you ; I 
dislike you the worst of any one in the world, ex- 
cept John Eeed ; and this book about the liar, you 
may give it to your girl, Georgiana, for it is she 
that tells lies, and not I. 

[Throws the hook in Mrs. Eeed’s lap. 

Mrs. Reed. What more have you to say ? 

Jane. I am glad you are no relative of mine. 
My uncle Eeed is in heaven, and can see all you do. 
He knows how you thrust me back, roughly and 
violently thrust me back into the Eed-room, though 
I cried out in agony. You think I have no feelings, 
and that I can live without one bit of love or kind- 
ness, but I can not live so, and you told Mr. Brockle- 
hurst that I had a deceitful disposition. 


172 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


Mrs. Meed. Children must be corrected for their 
faults. 

Jane. Deceit is not my fault. 

Mrs. Meed. But you are passionate, Jane, that 
you must allow; and now return to the nursery, 
there ’s a dear, and lie down a little. 

Jane. I am not your dear, and I can not lie down. 
Send me to school soon, Mrs. Beed, for I hate to live 
here. 

[Mrs. Beed gathers up her work to leave the room. 

Mrs. Meed. [. Aside ] I will, indeed, send her to 
school soon. [Exit. 

Jane. Oh, I am so miserable, so miserable and 
lonely. I wonder if my dear uncle Eyre will come, 
as he wrote. He is the only one that understands 
or loves me. Oh, that he were here. [Discovers her 
doll on the floor , and takes it up fondly ] Oh, Dolly ! 
poor Dolly, I wish you could talk to me, for I am so 
unhappy. Nobody loves us, Dolly, and every thing 
in the world is hard and cold. What shall I do? 
what shall I do ? 

[Hugs her doll to her breast and sinks to the floor , sob * 
bing and crying. 

Scene IY : — A school-room ; on one side a teacher's 
desk , on the other , girls seated in rows facing the 
desk , the largest girls in the back row; Miss 
Texiiple seated near the desk; Jane in the front 
row , near the end. 

Miss Temple. [ Gently ] Julia Severn, what ails 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


173 


you? You look pale and ill. What is the matter? 

Julia. [ Passionately ] I ’m so hungry, ma ’am. 

Miss Temple. Yes, Julia? 

Julia. The porridge at breakfast was so scorched 
that I could not swallow it, and so it was at supper 
last night; and the oatmeal cake was sour. 

Several Girls. So it was, Miss Temple, so it was ! 

One Girl. Yes ! and so it generally is ! 

Another Girl. And the bacon was so rusty that 
our dinner yesterday smelt like my mother’s soap- 
kettle. I couldn’t swallow a mouthful of it, and I 
don’t wonder Julia couldn’t. 

A Very Little Girl. And I saw the girl next to 
Julia steal half of her piece of bread. 

A Large Girl. The porridge was shameful stuff, 
Miss Temple. If we could only have more bread, 
though, we might get along. 

Miss Temple. [ Considerately ] As you may be 
aware, I have no power to increase the amount of 
your daily rations, nor to dictate what they shall be. 
The regulations fix that. I have advised that they 
be increased and somewhat varied. This is all that 
it lies in my power to do. I knew, already, that 
you could not eat your breakfast, and have taken the 
responsibility of ordering that a lunch of bread and 
cheese be served to all. 

Many Girls. Thank you, Miss Temple; thank 
you, thank you. 

\fEnter servant with a tray , containing small slices of 
bread and bits of cheese , which he passes to the 


174 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


scholars ; as he goes out he meets Mr. Brockle- 
iiurst entering , to whom he bows profoundly. 
Teacher and scholars arise en masse , bow to Mr. 
B., and then sit down ; Jane concecds her face 
behind her slate; Mr. B. bows to Miss Temple 
majestically , then surveys the girls in angry 
astonishment. 

Mr. B. [To Miss Temple] How is this? Lunch? 
I find no such meal as lunch mentioned in the reg- 
ulations. Who introduced this innovation, and by 
what authority ? 

Miss Temple. I must be responsible for the cir- 
cumstance, sir. The breakfast was so ill-prepared 
that the pupils could not possibly eat it, and I 
dared not allow them to remain fasting until dinner 
time. 

Mr. B. Madam, allow me an instant ! You are 
aware that my plan is to make these girls hardy, 
patient, self-denying. Should any little accidental 
disappointment of the appetite occur, such as the 
spoiling of a meal, the under or over-dressing of a 
dish, the incident ought not to be neutralized by 
replacing with something more delicate the comfort 
lost. It ought to be improved to the spiritual edifi- 
cation of the pupils. A brief address on those occa- 
sions would not be mistimed, wherein the judicious 
instructor would refer to the sufferings of the mar- 
tyrs, and the self-imposed privations of the early 
Christians. Oh, madam ! when you put bread and 
cheese instead of burned porridge into these cliil- 


TIIE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


175 


dren’s mouths, you may indeed feed their vile bodies, 
but you little think how you starve their immortal 
souls ! [Miss Temple, who has risen, looks coldly 
straight before her ; Mr. Brockleiiurst, with his 
hands behind him, majestically surveys the school ; 
he starts at sight of Julia Severn’s curly hair'] Miss 
Temple, Miss Temple, what, what is that girl with 
curled hair ! Red hair, ma ’am, curled ! curled all 
over ! 

Miss Temple. [ Very quietly] It is Julia Severn. 

Mr. B. [ Excitedly ] Julia Severn, ma’am! and 
why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, in 
defiance of every precept and principle of this 
house, does she wear her hair one mass of curls? 

Miss Temple. [Still more quietly] Julia’s hair 
curls naturally. 

Mr. B. Naturally! Yes! but we are not to con- 
form to nature. I wish these girls to be children 
of grace! I have again and again intimated that I 
desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, 
plainly! Miss Temple, that girl’s hair must be cut 
off entirely. I will send a barber to-morrow. And 
I see others who have far too much of the excres- 
eense. That tall girl, [pointing] tell her to turn 
round. Tell all the first class to rise up and turn 
their faces to the wall. 

[Miss Temple hides a smile in her handkerchief. 

Miss Temple. The first class will please comply 
with the request of Mr. Brocklehurst. 

[The large girls rise and turn round, grimacing . 


176 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


Mr. B. [Scrutinizes them a few moments , then 
pompously] All — those — top — knots — must — be — 
cut — off. 

Miss Temple. [. Expostulating ] My dear sir — 

Mr. B. Allow me, madam ! Each of these young 
persons before us has a string of hair twisted in 
plaits that vanity itself might have woven. These, 
I repeat, must be cut off! Think. of the time wasted, 
of — [Jane’s slate falls with a crash , and draws all 
eyes upon her ] A careless girl. [Recognizing Jane] 
It is the new pupil, I perceive. I must not forget I 
have a word to say concerning her. [ Very loud] 
Let the child who dropped her slate come forward. 
[Jane, terrified and unable to rise , is lifted to her feet 
by the girls on each side of her and pushed for- 
ward; Miss Temple meets her and gently leads 
her to Mr. Brocklehurst. 

Miss Temple. [Aside to Jane] Do n’t be afraid, 
Jane, I saw it was an accident. You shall not be 
punished. 

Jane. [Aside, clasping her hands ] Oh, clear! Oh, 
dear ! In another minute that man will tell her 
what Mrs. Reed said of me, and she will despise me 
for a hypocrite. [Drops her head into her hands. 

Air. B. [Pointing to a very high stoo?] Fetch that 
stool. [One of the large girls takes the stool to Mr. 
Brocklehurst] Place the child upon it. [The girl 
places Jane upon the sfoo?] Miss Temple and chil- 
dren, [solemnly] you all see this girl. You see she 
is yet young. You observe she possesses the ordi- 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


177 


nary form of childhood. No signal deformity points 
her out as a marked character. Who would believe 
that the evil one had already found a servant and 
agent in her? Yet such, I grieve to say, is the 
case. [Jane begins to listen ] My dear children, 
this is a sad, a melancholy occasion, for it becomes 
my duty to warn you that this girl is not of the 
true flock. l r ou must be on your guard against her. 
You must shun her example; if necessary, avoid her 
company, exclude her from your sports, and shut 
her from your converse. Miss Temple, you must 
watch her; weigh well her words, scrutinize her 
actions, for this girl — this child — is a liar! 

Jane. No, no, no; indeed I am not, sir. 

[Enter Bessie. 

Mr. B. Silence, girl ; would you add impudence 
to falsehood ? 

Bessie. [ Coming forward , excitedly] I aint agoing 
to see the little thing mistreated by no man. 

Jane. Bessie ! 

Mr. B. What docs this mean? Woman, take 
yourself out of this room instantly. 

Bessie. Man, I sha’ n’t do it. I ’vo come all the 
way from Gateshead to see this little girl, and I ! m 
going to stand by her. 

Mr. B. [ Jn a rage , and raising his cane'] I give 
you one minute to go. 

Miss Temple. Oh, Mr. Brocklehurst, you would 
not strike a woman ! 

Bessie. Let him try it, if he wants his big ugly 


178 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


whiskers thinned out. \_To Mr. B.] You ’re a 
pretty parson to accuse this poor child of telling 
lies. I ’ve known Jane Eyre ever since she was a 
baby, and she ’s as truthful a girl as ever breathed. 
Whoever calls Jane a liar, is a liar himself, parson 
or no parson. 

Mr. B. Yile creature, say no more. Leave the 
room, or I shall strike you. [ Enter Mr. Eyre. 

Mr. Eyre. [ Coming forward ] Put down your cane, 
sir. For shame. Strike that woman at your peril. 

Mr. B. Who are you? Why do you intrude here? 

Mr. Eyre. I am a man , sir; and shall always 
make it my duty to intrude in such a conflict as this. 
Besides, I have other business here. I have a niece 
in your school, whom I wish to sec. 

Mr. B. Ah, my dear sir, we are delighted to see 
our friends. When you understand — 

Mr. Eyre. No doubt you are delighted to see me 
— and be sure I do understand. You need make no 
explanations. I know your history, Mr. Brockle- 
hurst. Best assured that your iniquitous manage- 
ment of these helpless little ones has been looked 
into by the proper authorities. Please conduct me 
to my niece. 

Mr. B. You arc bold, sir. Your insinuations arc 
insulting. What is your name ? 

Mr. Eyre. John Eyre. 

Mr. B. and Miss Temple. John Eyre ! 

Bessie. So it is, sure enough. I thought I had 
seen that face, — Jane — Jane — 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


179 


Jane. [Runs up to Mr. Eyre] Uncle, uncle ! 

Mr. Eyre. You are, indeed, my dear little niece, 
my Jane, who wrote me a letter to Madeira. 

Jane. Yes, yes. Oh, how glad I am ! 

Mr. B. "Well, sir, if this sentimental scene could 
be brought to a close, I should be glad. 

Mr. Eyre. Any thing to accommodate you. But 
there is one scene more which I wish these ladies 
to witness, and in which you must play a leading 
part. Which of these ladies is Miss Temple ? 

Miss Temple. That is my name, sir. 

Mr. Eyre. Miss Temple, I come as the bearer of 
an important message to you. It is my pleasant 
duty to inform you and Mr. Brocklehurst, that the 
Directors of the Lowood Institute, at their last 
meeting, having investigated certain secret charges 
against Mr. Brocklehurst, unanimously voted to 
expel that gentleman from his position of superin- 
tendent of this school, and, at the same time, to ap- 
point you at the head of affairs in his stead. 

[ Great clapping of hands. 

Mr. B. It ’s a lie. 

Mr. Eyre. No, no, it is n’t. Here is the official 
document. And let me just hint that it won’t be 
healthy for you to repeat your last remark again. 
You ’d better go out into the fresh air and cool off. 

Mr. B. I ’ll bo revenged as sure as — 

[Goes out muttering. 

Mr. Eyre. No danger from a man who raises his 
cane against a woman. Well, Jennie, it’s all right 


180 


THE LITTLE DEPENDENT. 


at last. I ’ve come home according to promise, you 
see, and I ’ve come to stay. I have neither wife 
nor child, and you, who are my only brother’s 
only daughter, shall no longer be a dependent, if 
California gold is any account. From this day for- 
ward you may look to me for a father’s care and 
protection. And in honor of this occasion, Miss 
Temple must permit me to appoint to-day . as a day 
of festivity. [ Clapping of hands ] I shall beg for 
myself the honor and pleasure of acting as master 
of ceremonies. [ Clapping renewed. 

Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

Mrs. Reed and Georgiana. — Elegant home costume of modern 
times. 

Jane Eyre. — Shabby dress, and brown Holland pinafore. 

Miss Temple. — Neat dress, gold watch and chain. 

Mr. Brocklehurst. — Black suit, swallow-tailed coat, silk hat, 
heavy whiskers, spectacles, and cane. 

School Girls. — Brown stuff dresses, and long Holland aprons, 
with Holland bags tied with a string around the waist. 

Mr. Eyre. — Gentleman’s business suit, with Panama hat. 


PROPERTIES. 

Curtains; book; doll; cane; slate; tray; chairs; desk; stool. 


CONTENTMENT. 


181 



ONTEOTMENT. 


Adapted from L. M. Alcott's Little Women. 


lady. 

Meg, her daughter , aged sixteen. 
Jo, her daughter , aged fifteen. 


Mrs. March, a motherly , middle-aged 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Beth, her daughter , aged thirteen. 
Amy, her daughter , aged twelve. 


Scene : — A simply furnished sitting-room ; Meg at 
some plain sewing ; Jo knitting an army sock; 
Beth mending stockings; Amy, in an easy -chair, 
hemming a frill. 

Jo. Christmas won’t be Christmas, without any 
presents. 

Meg. [ Sadly'] It is so dreadful to be poor. 

Amy. I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to 
have lots of pretty things, and other girls nothing at 


all. 


Beth. We ’ve got father and mother, and each 
other, any how. 


182 


CONTENTMENT. 


Jo. [ Sadly ] We have n’t got father, and shall 
not have him for a long time. 

Betli. You know the reason why mother proposed 
not having any presents this Christmas was because 
it’s going to he a hard winter for every one; and 
she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure 
when our men are suffering so in the army. We 
can’t do much, hut we can make our little sacrifices, 
and ought to do it gladly. But I’m afraid I don’t. 

[Shaking her head regretfully. 

Jo. But I don’t think the little we should spend 
would do any good. We ’ve each got a dollar, and 
the army would n’t he much helped hy our giving 
that. I agree not to expect any thing from mother 
or you, hut I do want to huy Undine and Sintram 
for myself; I’ve wanted it so long. 

Beth. [Sighing softly] I planned to spend mine 
in new music. 

Amy. [. Decidedly ] I shall get a nice hox of 
Faber’s drawing pencils; I really need them. 

Jo. Mother didn’t say any thing about our 
money, and she won’t wish us to give up every 
thing. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a 
little fun ; I ’m sure we grub hard enough to earn it. 

Meg. [In a complaining tone ;] I know I do, teach- 
ing those dreadful children nearly all day, when I ’m 
longing to enjoy myself at home. 

Jo. You do n’t have half such a hard time as I 
do. How would you like to be shut up for hours 
with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trot- 


CONTENTMENT. 


183 


ting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you are 
ready to fly out of the window or box her ears? 

Beth. It’s naughty to fret, — but I do think wash- 
ing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work 
in the world. It makes me cross ; and my hands get 
so stiff I can’t practice good a bit. 

Amy. I do n’t believe any of you suffer as I do, 
for you do n’t have to go to school with impertinent 
girls, who plague you if you don’t know your les- 
sons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your 
father if he isn’t rich, and insult you when your 
nose isn’t nice. 

Jo. [ Laughing ] If you mean libel I’d say so, 
and not talk about labels , as if pa was a pickle- 
bottle. 

Amy. I know what I mean, and you need n’t be 
statirical about it. It’s proper to use good words, 
and improve your vocabilary. My only comfort is 
\to Meg] that mother don’t take tucks in my dresses 
whenever I ’m naughty, as Maria Parks’s mother 
does. My dear, it ’s really dreadful ; for sometimes 
she is so bad, her frock is up to her knees, and she 
can’t come to school. When I think of this degger- 
redation , I feel that I can bear even my flat nose and 
purple gown with yellow sky-rockets in it. 

Meg. Don’t you wish we had the money papa 
lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me, how happy 
and good we ’d be if we had no worries. 

Beth. You said, the other day, you thought we 
were a deal happier than the king’s children, for 


184 


CONTENTMENT. 


they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite 
of their money. 

Meg. So I did, Beth. Well, 1 guess we are ; for 
though we do have to work, we make fun for our- 
selves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say. 

Amy. Jo does use such slang words. [Jo puts her 
hands in her apron pockets , and begins to whistle ] 
Don’t, Jo, it’s so boyish. 

Jo. That ’s why 1 do it. 

Amy. I detest rude, unlady-like girls. 

Jo. I hate affected niminy, piminy chits. 

Beth. \_Singing~\ “ Birds in their little nests 
agree.” 

Meg. Beally, girls, you are both to be blamed. 
You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks and 
behave better, Josephine. It did n’t matter so much 
when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, 
and turn up your hair, you should remember that 
you are a young lady. 

Jo. I aint! and if turning up my hair makes me 
one, [pulling off her net , and shaking down her hair~\ 
I ’ll wear it in two tails till I ’m twenty. I hate to 
think I ’ve got to grow up and be Miss March, and 
wear long gowns, and be as prim as a China-aster. 
It ’s bad enough to be a girl any way, when I like 
boy’s games, and work, and manners. I can’t get 
over my disappointment in not being a boy; and 
it ’s worse than ever now, for I ’m dying to go and 
fight with papa, and I can only stay at home and 
knit like a pokey old woman. 


CONTENTMENT. 


185 


Beth. Poor Jo; it’s too bad. [Stroking Jo’s hair ] 
But it can’t be helped, so you must try to be con- 
tented with making your name boyish, and playing 
brother to us girls. 

Meg. As for you, Amy, you are altogether too 
particular and prim. Your airs are funny now ; but 
you ’ll grow up an affected little goose if you do n’t 
take care. I like your nice manners and refined 
ways of speaking, when you don’t try to be elegant; 
but your absurd words are as bad as Jo’s slang. 

Beth. [ Sitting on the foot-stool at Meg’s feet ] If 
Jo is a tomboy, and Amy a goose, what am I, 
please? 

Meg. £ Caressing Beth] You ’re a dear, and noth- 
ing else. 

Jo. It is marmee’s time to come home. [ Getting 
her mother's slippers , and holding them to the fire] 
They are quite worn out; [examining the slippers ] 
marmee must have a new pair. 

Beth. I thought I ’d get her some with my dollar. 

Amy. Mo ; I shall ! 

[ Vacating the easy -chair, and rolling it near the fire . 

Meg. I ’m the oldest — 

Jo. I ’m the man of the family now papa is away, 
and I [decidedly] shall provide the slippers, for he 
told me to take special care of mother while he was 
gone. 

Beth. I’ll tell you what we’ll do: let’s each get 
her something for Christmas, and not get any thing 
for ourselves. 


S T. 10 


186 


CONTENTMENT. 


Jo. That’s like you, dear! What shall we get? 

Meg. [ Looking at her own hands ] I shall give her 
a nice pair of gloves. 

Jo. Army shoes — best to be had. 

Beth. Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed. 

Amy. I ’ll get a little bottle of cologne ; she likes 
it, and it won’t cost much, so I ’ll have some left 
to buy something for me. 

Meg. How will we give the things ? 

Jo. Put ’em on the table, and bring her in and 
see her open the bundles. Do n’t you remember how 
we used to do on our birthdays ? 

Meg, Beth, and Amy. The very thing. 

[ Enter Mrs. March ; Amy arranges the arm-chair ; 
Jo places the slippers in front of it by the fire ; 
Beth takes her muff and victorine, while Meg 
unfastens her wraps. 

Airs. Alarch. Well, dearies, how have you got on 
to-day? There was so much to do getting the boxes 
ready to go to-morrow, that I didn’t come home to 
dinner. Has any one called, Beth? How is your 
cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and 
kiss me, baby. 

[Mrs. March sits down in the arm-chair; Jo puts on 
her slippers ; and the girls resume their seats and 
work ; Mrs. March draws an army sock from her 
pocket, and. begins knitting. 

Meg. I think it was so splendid in father to go 
as a chaplain, when he was too old to be drafted, 
and not strong enough for a soldier. 


CONTENTMENT. 


187 


Jo. Don’t I wish I could go as a drummer, a 
vivan — what’s its name? or a nurse, so I could he 
near him and help him ! 

Amy. It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a 
tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and 
drink out of a tin mug. 

Beth. When will he come home, marmee? 

Airs. March. Not for many months, dear, unless 
he is sick. He will stay and do his work faithfully, 
as long as he can, and we won’t ask for him back a 
minute sooner than he can be spared. But how have 
you all got on to-day with your duties and cares? 
Jo, let’s hear from you. 

Jo. I had a queer time with aunt to-day, and as 
I got the best of it, I ’ll tell you about it. I was 
reading that everlasting Belsham , and droning away 
as I always do, for aunt soon drops off, and then I 
take out some nice book and read like fury till she 
wakes up. I actually made myself sleepy, and, be- 
fore she began to nod, I gave such a gape that she 
asked me what I meant by opening my mouth wide 
enough to take the whole book in at once. 

“I wish I could, and be done with it,” said I, try- 
ing not to be saucy. 

Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and 
told me to sit and think them over, while she just 
“lost ” herself for a moment. She never finds her- 
self very soon ; so the minute her cap began to bob 
like a top-heavy dahlia, I whipped the Vicar of 
Wakefield out of my pocket, and read away, with 


188 


CONTENTMENT. 


one eye on him, and one on aunt. I ’d just got to 
where they all tumbled into the water, when I for- 
got, and laughed out loud. Aunt woke up, and, be- 
ing more good-natured after her nap, told me to 
read a bit, and show what frivolous work I pre- 
ferred to the worthy and instructive Belsham. I did 
my very best, and she liked it, though she only 
said, — 

“I don’t understand what it’s all about; go back 
and begin it, child.” 

Back I went, and made the Primroses as interest- 
ing as ever I could. Once I was wicked enough to 
stop in a thrilling place, and say, meekly, “ I ’m 
afraid it tires you, ma ’am ; slia’ n’t I stop now ?” 

She caught up her knitting, which had dropped 
out of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her 
specs, and said, in her short way, — 

“ Finish the chapter, and do n’t be impertinent, 
miss.” 

Meg. Did she own that she liked it? 

Jo. Oh, bless you, no ! but she let old Belsham 
rest ; and, when I ran back after my gloves this 
afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicar, that 
she didn’t hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the 
hall, because of the good time coming. What a 
pleasant life she might have if she only chose. I 
don’t envy her much, in spite of her money, for, 
after all, rich people have about as many worries as 
poor ones, I guess. 

Meg. That reminds me that I ’ve got something 


CONTENTMENT. 


189 


to tell. It isn’t funny like Jo’s story, but I thought 
about it a good deal as I came home. At the Kings’ 
to-day I found every body in a flurry, and one of 
the children said that her oldest brother had done 
something dreadful, and papa had sent him away. 
I heard Mrs. King crying, and Mr. King talking 
very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their 
faces when they passed me, so I shouldn’t see how 
red their eyes were. I did n’t ask any questions, of 
course, but I felt so sorry for them, and was rather 
glad I had n’t any wild brothers to do wicked things 
and disgrace the family. 

Amy. I think being disgraced in school is a great 
deal tryinger than any thing bad boys can do. Susie 
Perkins came to school to-day with a lovely red 
carnelian ring ; I wanted it dreadfully, and wished 
I was her wdth all my might. "Well, she drew a 
picture of Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and a 
hump, and the words, “ Young ladies, my eye is upon 
you,” coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing. 
We were laughing over it, when all of a sudden his 
eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring up her 
slate. She was parrylized with fright, and oh, what 
do you think he did ? He took her by the ear, the 
ear ! just fancy how horrid ! and led her to the reci- 
tation platform, and made her stand there half an 
hour, holding that slate so every one could see. 

Jo. Did n’t the girls shout at the picture ? 

Amy. Laugh ! not one; they sat as still as mice, 
and Susie cried quarts, I know she did. I did n’t 


190 


CONTENTMENT. 


envy her then, for I felt that millions of carnelian 
rings wouldn’t have made me happy after that. I 
never, never, should have got over such an agonizing 
mortification. 

Beth. I saw something that I liked this morning. 
I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot. When I 
went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. Lawrence 
was in the fish-shop, but he did n’t see me, for I kept 
behind a barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter, 
the fishman. A poor woman came in with a pail 
and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her 
do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she 
hadn’t any dinner for her children, and had been 
disappointed of a day’s work. Mr. Cutter was in a 
hurry, and said “No” rather crossly; so she was 
going away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr. 
Lawrence hooked up a big fish with the crooked 
end of his cane, and held it out to her. She was so 
glad and surprised, she took it right in her arms, 
and thanked him over and over. He told her to “go 
along and cook it,” and she hurried ofl*, so happy ! 
Wasn’t it nice of him? Oh, she did look so funny, 
hugging a big, slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Law- 
rence’s bed in heaven would be “ aisy.” 

Meg. Now, marmee, it’s your turn. Let’s hear 
your day’s experience. 

Mrs. March. As I sat cutting out blue flannel 
jackets to-day, at the rooms, I felt very anxious 
about father, and thought how lonely and helpless 
we should be if any thing happened to him. It 


CONTENTMENT. 


191 


was not a wise thing to do, but I kept on worrying 
till an old man came in with an order for some 
things. He sat down near me and I began to talk 
to him, for he looked poor, and tired, and anxious. 

“Have you sons in the army?” I asked, for the 
note lie brought was not to me. 

“ Yes, ma ’am, I had four, but two were killed ; one 
is a prisoner, and I ’m going to the other, who is 
very sick in a Washington hospital,” he answered, 
quietly. 

“ You have done a great deal for your country, 
sir,” I said, feeling respect now instead of pity. 

“ Hot a mite more than I ought, ma ’am. I ’d go 
myself if I was any use ; as I aint I give my boys, 
and give ’em free.” 

He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and 
seemed so glad to give his all, that I was ashamed 
of myself. I ’d given one man, and thought it too 
much, while he gave four without grudging them ; 
I had all my girls to comfort me at home, and his 
last son was waiting miles away, to say “ good-bye ” 
to him, perhaps. I felt so rich, so happy, thinking 
of my blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave 
him some money, and thanked him heartily for the 
lesson he had taught me. 

Jo. Tell another story, mother ; one with a moral 
to it, like this. I like to think about them afterward, 
if they are real, and not too preachy. 

Mrs. March. Once upon a time there were four 
girls, who had enough to eat, and drink, and wear ; 


192 


CONTENTMENT. 


a good many comforts and pleasures ; kind friends 
and parents, who loved them dearly. [ The girls 
steal sly glances at one another , and sew diligently ] 
These girls were anxious to he good, and made 
many excellent resolutions, but somehow they did 
not keep them very well, and were constantly say- 
ing: “If we only had this;” or, “If we could only 
do that;” quite forgetting how much they already 
had, and how many pleasant things they actually 
could do; so they asked an old woman what spell 
they could use to make them happy, and she said, 
“ When you feel discontented, think over your bless- 
ings, and be grateful.” 

Being sensible girls, they decided to try her ad- 
vice, and soon were surprised to see how well off 
they were. One discovered that money could n’t 
keep shame and sorrow from rich people’s houses ; 
another that, though she was poor, she was a great 
deal happier with her youth, health, and good spirits, 
than a certain fretful, feeble old lady, who could n’t 
enjoy her comforts ; a third, that, disagreeable as it 
was to help get dinner, it was harder still to have 
to go begging for it; and the fourth, that, even car- 
nelian rings were not so valuable as good behavior. 
So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the 
blessing already possessed, and try to deserve them, 
lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of 
increased ; and I believe they were never disap- 
pointed, or sorry that they took the old woman’s 
advice. 


CONTENTMENT. 


193 


Meg. Now, marmee, that is very cunning of you 
to turn our own stories against us, and give us a ser- 
mon instead of a spin. 

Beth. I like that kind of a sermon. It ’s the sort 
father used to tell us. 

Amy. I don’t complain near so much as the 
others do, and I shall he more careful than ever 
now, for I ’ve had warning from Susie’s downfall. 

Jo. We needed that lesson, and we won’t forget 
it. If we do, you just say to us, as Old Chloe did 
in Uncle Tom, “ Tink ob yer marcies, chillen, tink 
ob yer marcies.” 

Curtain. 


8. T. 17. 


194 


THE IRISH YALET. 



IRISH YALET. 


From Samuel Lover's Handy Andy. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Squire Egan. 

Andy Rooney, 11 a brave lump of a boy. 
Judy, Andy's mother. 


» 


Scene The Squire’s room , the Squire seated read- 
ing the paper ; a rap is heard at the door. 

Squire. Who’s that? 

Judy. [ Outside'] It ’s me, sir. [ Entering ] Plaze 
your honor, I heard you was wanting a nice boy. 
Here he is, sure. [To Andy] Come in wid ye, ye 
spalpeen. [Andy enters , scraping his foot and pulling 
his forelock ] The handyest cratur alive — and so 
willin’, — nothing comes wrong to him. 

Squire. [ Surveying Andy] I suppose the English 
of all this is, you want me to take him. 

Andy. Troth, an’ your honor, that’s just it — if 
your honor will be plazed. [Andy bows and scrapes. 

Squire . What can he do ? 

Judy. Any thing, your honor. [Andy bows. 

Squire. That means nothing, I suppose. 

Judy. Oh, no, sir! Every thing, I mean, that 


THE IRISH VALET. 


195 


you would desire him to. [Andy bows and scrapes. 

Squire. Can he take care of horses ? 

Andy. Yis, sure. 

Judy. The best of care, sir — 

Squire. Black hoots, brush clothes, wait on me? 

Judy. Indade he can, sir. 

Squire. Then, let him stay, and we’ll see what 
he can do. 

Judy. May the Lord— 

Squire. That will do — there, now go. 

Judy. Oh ! sure ! hut I ’ll pray for you, and — 

Squire. [ With an impatient gesture] Will you go ! 

Judy. And may angels make your honor’s bed 
this blessed night, I pray! 

Squire. [With emphasis] If you don’t go, your 
son sha’n’t stay ! [Exit Judy, hastily] How, my 
hoy, — hut what’s your name? 

Andy. Andy Booney, plaze your honor. 

Squire. You may go to the kitchen and get me 
some hot water for shaving. You may as well begin 
your duties at once. 

Andy. Yis, your honor ; I ’ll he going. 

[Exit Andy. Squire resumes his paper; presently 
Andy enters, carrying an enormous tin can. 

Andy. Here ’s the hot water, sir. 

Squire. Why, what in thunder brings that tin can 
here ! You might as well bring the stable-bucket. 

Andy. I beg your pardon, sir. [Exit. 

Squire. Can any thing equal the blunders of a 
raw Irishman? 


196 


THE IRISH VALET. 


Andy. [Putting his head in cautiously ] The maids 
in the kitchen, your honor, says there ’s not so much 
hot water ready. 

Squire. Did I not see it a moment since in your 
hand ? 

Andy. Yes, sir; but that’s not nigh the full o’ 
the stable-bucket. 

Squire. Go along, you stupid thief, and get me 
some hot water immediately. 

Andy. Will the can do, sir? 

Squire. Ay, any thing, so you make haste ! [Exit 
Andy] This out-does the stupidity of Mike. He 
had never seen a silver fork until he came here. 
He took it for a spoon. “ Well,” says he, “the divel 
be from me if ever I seen a silver spoon split that 
way before.” Ah, here is Andy. 

Andy. [ With the can ] Where ’ll I put it, sir ? 

Squire. [Taking a pitcher, with some water in it] 
Here, throw this out. [Andy deliberately throws the 
pitcher out of the window] What did you do that 
for? 

Andy. Sure, you towld me to throw it out, sir! 

Squire. Go out of this, you thick-headed villain ! 
[ Throws a pair of boots at Andy, who dodges , then 
runs out , followed by the Squire. 

costumes. 

Squire Egan. — Ordinary suit, and dressing-gown. 

Andy. — Ragged garments; coat-sleeves and pantaloon-legs very 
short; torn felt hat; red wig, much disordered. 


IMAGINARY POSSESSIONS. 


197 


Judy. — The outfit of an Irish washer-woman of the lowest 
class. The part may be taken by a boy, dressed in 
women’s clothes. 


PROPERTIES. 

A newspaper; a tin can; a pitcher; and a pair of boots. 



GIN ARY 

POSSESSIONS. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
Bill Bumpkin. Sol Blunt. 

Clem Clodpoll. 


Scene: — A road. Enter Bill and Clem, meeting. 

Bill. Hi, Clem, that you ? You ’re late. 

Clem. So he you; what kep’ you? 

Bill. I’ve been a mowin’ for Farmer Nabob; 
and I was bound to get done, if it took till bed- 
time. Where have you been? 


198 


IMAGINARY POSSESSIONS. 


Clem. Drivin’ Uncle Jake’s ox-team to the saw- 
mill. Aint it a pretty night? 

Bill. ’Tis that. Nary cloud to be seen. 

Clem. Plenty of stars, though. 

Bill. There ’s a mighty wide stretch of blue up 
there. I wonder how many acres there be in the 
sky. I wish it was all one big field of blue-grass, 
and I owned it. 

Clem. Tell you what I wish. I wish all them 
stars was fat cattle, and belonged to me. 

Bill. Cattle ! What in creation would you do 
with so many cattle? Where would you keep ’em? 

Clem. Wall, I reckon I ’d leave ’em be in your big 
pasture. 

Bill. Guess you ’d better ask me about that ; 
what rent would you pay? 

Clem. I sha’ n’t pay at all, and I sha’ n’t ask 
leave. 

Bill. Won’t pay for pasterin’ all them cattle? 

Clem. Not a nickel. 

Bill. Then, I’ll shoot your blamed old cattle; 
every skin of ’em ! 

Clem. Shoot! I’d like to catch you at it; I’d 
kick you till you couldn’t stand up! 

Bill. Kick me ! You, Clem Clodpoll, kick me ? 
No, sir-ee; you ’re not the man to kick Bill Bump- 
kin. I ’ll shoot your cattle, old and j^oung, horned 
and muley, — and if I ever see you within a hundred 
yards of my pasture, I ’ll — 

Clem. I dare you to ! Who ’s afraid of you ? I ’ll 


IMAGINARY POSSESSIONS. 


199 


tear down the fence ; I ’ll burn your blue-grass ; I ’ll 
haul stones all over your pasture-field ! 

Bill. You miserable, low-lived ox-driver. You’re 
mean and sneakin’ enough to steal or do any thing 
contemptible. 

Clem. You ’re a liar, and a fightin’ liar, and you 
dare s’nt take it up. 

Bill. Take that. 

[, Strikes Clem ; they tussel and fight in the most boor- 
ish manner , and finally roll on the ground together. 
Enter Blunt. 

Blunt. What ’s all this? Get up, here, you young 
grizzly bears. Why are you fighting ? \_I£e parts 

them. They stand , looking foolish , and rubbing their 
bruises ] Can’t one of you speak? What was th.e 
cause of this moonlight encounter? 

Clem. He said he ’d shoot my cattle. 

Bill. He said he ’d burn my blue-grass. 

Clem. He called me a thief, — 

Bill. He said he ’d turn his cattle into my 
meadow without asking me. 

Blunt. Cattle? Blue-grass? Meadow? What are 
you talking about ? I did n’t know that you owned 
any cattle. 

Clem. [ Looking confused ] Ho, I don’t; but, if I 
did — 

Blunt. If you did ? Ha, ha, — You do n’t mean 
to say you have been pommeling each other about 
an if! How is it, Bill ; where is your meadow upon 
which Clem has been trespassing ? 


200 


IMAGINARY POSSESSIONS. 


Bill. [ Scratching his head ] I ’ll tell you how it 
was, Sol ; I said I wished the sky was a big pasture, 
and that it was mine ; and Clem said he wished all 
the stars were cattle, and belonged to him. 

Blunt. Yes. 

Bill. Then we went on from one thing to another, 
till we got to thinking that the sky was mine, and 
the stars his ’n. Then we got to quarrelin’ about our 
property, and I as good as called Clem a thief, and 
he as good as called me a liar, — 

Clem. And so we fit. 

Blunt. Well, that ’s the queerest cause of war that 
I ever heard about. You are more foolish than the 
men who disputed about the color of the chamelion. 
Shake hands, you blockheads, and go home. \To 
audience ] Ladies and gentlemen, I do n’t wonder 
that you laugh at the absurd spectacle just exhibited 
before you. But I leave it to you, who are judges 
of human nature, to pardon the extravagance of our 
play, in view of the moral it conveys to those who 
are tempted to contend about Imaginary Possessions. 

Curtain. 


A COLORED WITNESS. 


201 



COLORED WITNESS. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Judge. 

William Henry Johnson, the witness. 
Clerk of the Court. 

District Attorney. 

Mr. Howe. 

Several spectators. 


Scene: — A court-room; Judge on the bench. 

Judge. Let the next witness be called. 

Clerk. William Henry Johnson ! William Henry 
Johnson ! 

Witness. [ Coming forward] Heah ! 

Judge. Are you William Henry Johnson? 
Witness. Dat’s my Christian name, boss; folks 
most gen’ly calls me Hen. 

Judge. Swear him. 

Clerk. Will you hold up your right hand? 
Witness. Jes as you say. [Puts up left hand. 
Clerk. The right hand. 

Witness. What, bofe hands? Jes as you say. 
Clerk. No, your right hand onty. Don’t you 
know which is your right hand ? 


202 


A COLORED WITNESS. 


Judge . Never mind. Administer the oath. 

Clerk. \_In the usual indistinct and hurried manner ] 
Do — you — solemnly — swear — that — you — will — tell 
— the — truth, — the — whole — truth, — and — nothing — 
but — the — truth, — m — m — m — bl — ub — lub ? [ Wit- 

ness stares in silence ] Can’t you speak ? 

Witness. Yes, sah ; but I can’t gabble dat way. 

Clerk. Do you swear? 

Witness. Sometimes, when I ’s mad. 

Judge. The Clerk will please repeat the oath 
slowly and intelligibly. 

Clerk. William Henry Johnson, do you solemnly 
swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, in respect to the case 
now on trial between Nixon and the State? 

Witness. Yes, sah. 

Judge. Let the examination proceed. 

Attorney. Mr. Johnson, please state what you 
know concerning the murder of Caleb Collins. 

Witness. I do n’t know noffin about no murder. 

Attorney. Well, the shooting, then. 

Witness. Golly, massa, you ’s barkin’ up de wrong 
limb. I did n’t see no shootin’. I was guine ’long 
Chatham street one day, and I see two gentlemen in 
a sort of a squabble, you understand. One, he was 
drivin’ along in a wagon, and the other, he was 
ridin’ along on a hoth. 

Judge. On what? 

Witness. On a hoth , — a four-legged hoth , you 
see. And he told him to git out of the way. 


A COLORED WITNESS. 


203 


Attorney. Who told whom to get out of the way? 

Witness. Yes — I say. This man in the wagon, 
he told this man on the hoth to get out of the way ; 
and this man on the hoth, he turns round and 
struck this man in the wagon two or three times. 

Attorney. Where do you live, Johnson ? 

Witness. In a garret. 

Attorney. What is your business? 

Witness. My wife follows the washin’ business, 
but she makes me do the work. 

Attorney. Where was the wagon when you saw it ? 
In the street. 

What part of the street? 

In the street ; not on the sidewalk. 

On which side of the street? 

On the same side that I was. 

How near was the wagon to the sidc- 


Witness. 

Attorney. 

Witness. 

Attorney. 

Witness. 

Attorney. 
walk ? 

Witness. Well, upon my soul, that ’s a pretty hard 
thing to tell, as I did not measure it. 

Attorney. Are you deaf? 

Witness. Sometimes. 

Attorney. When you first saw the man on horse- 
back. where was he? 


Witness. 

Attorney. 

Witness. 

before. 

Attorney. 

Witness. 


On his back. 

Where was the wagon ? 

Well, boss, I guess we talked about that 

With what did he strike the prisoner? 
He struck him with his hand ; he struck 


204 


A COLORED WITNESS. 


him with the whippletree. ’Pon my honor I can’t 
say in which hand he held the whippletree ; except 
it was de right or de left. 

Attorney. Were they near Barnum’s clothing-store ? 

Witness. Well, see here now, boss, I aint able to 
read nor write, and I can’t tell Barnum from A. T. 
Stewart, or any of them big folks, by looking up at 
their names. 

Attorney. When did you tell this to Mr. Howe ? 

Witness. Mr. Howe ? [ Looking about ] Mr. Howe, 
when was it I went to see you? [ Laughter . 

Attorney. Did you know Collins? 

Witness. No. I did n’t know him from Tom, 
Dick, nor the Devil. [Laughter] The fact is, boss, 
men will git into musses, particularly colored folks. 
You know some folks bees down on the colored peo- 
ple. I mean folks as has no eddication, and don’t 
know their grammar nor their dictionary. I can 
write my name — no, I can’t either, come to think. 

Attorney. Do you know Officer Yan Buskirk? 

Witness. Who ? What ? Does he know me ? I 

guess not. No, sah. [Laughter. 

Judge. The witness may retire. 

Witness. [Going] Thank you, sah, good-day, 

gen’l’men. [Exit. 

Judge. The court stands adjourned until to-mor- 
row morning. [Exeunt. 


IRISH EQUIVOCATION. 


205 


RISH EQUIVOCATION. 


Adapted from Barrington's Personal Sketches. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Traveler. 

Irish Peasant. 


Scene : — A road leading to Ballinrobe, Ireland. 

Traveler. How far is it to Ballinrobe, my friend ? 

Peasant. If your honor stops at three miles, 
you ’ll never get there ! 

Traveler. What place is that? [ Pointing . 

Peasant. Oh ! plaze your honor, that ’s Ballin- 
robe, sure enough. 

Traveler. Why, you said it was more than three 
miles off! 

Peasant. Oh, yes, to be sure and sartin, that ’s 
from my own cabin , plaze your honor. We ’re no 
scholards in this country. Arrah! how can we 
tell any distance, plaze your honor, but from our own 
little cabins? Nobody but the schoolmaster knows 
that, plaze your honor. 

Traveler. Can you tell me where Squire Mayo’s 
house is? 



206 


IRISH EQUIVOCATION. 


Peasant. Does your honor see that large house 
there, all among the trees, with a green field before 
it? 

Traveler. Yes. 

Peasant. Well, plaze your honor, that’s not it. 
But do you see the big brick house, with the cow- 
houses by the side of the same, and a pond of water ? 

Traveler. Yes. 

Peasant. Well, plaze your honor, that’s not it. 
But, if you plaze, look quite to the right of that 
same, and you ’ll see the top of a castle among the 
trees there, with a road going down to it betune the 
bushes. 

Traveler. Yes ; I see it. 

Peasant. Well, plaze your honor, that’s not it, 
neither — but if your honor will come down this bit 
of a road a couple of miles, I ’ll show it you sure 
enough — and if your honor ’s in a hurry, I can run 
on hot foot, and tell the Squire your honor ’s gallop- 
ing after me. Ah, who shall I tell the Squire, plaze 
your honor, is coming to see him? [ Going off, fol- 
lowed by Traveler] He ’s my own landlord, God 
save his honor day and night. 


Curtain. 


GRIT AS WELL AS MANNERS. 


207 



BIT AS WELL AS MANNEBS. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Parson Grave. Tony Jones, Sr. 
Tony Jones, Jr. 


Scene: — Jones’s cabin; Parson 
Grave and Tony Jones, Sr., 
seated. 


Parson. Yes, Brother Jones, the Dorcas Society 
met last night, and discussed, among other things, 
the state of manners among the children of the 
parish. 

Jones. Jes so. 

Parson. And they passed a resolution, requesting 
me to wait upon you, and see if something can not 
be done for the correction of the behavior of your 
son Tony. 

Jones. Parson, I ’d let Tony go to meeting every 
Sunday, ef I only knowed you was a-goin’ to preach ; 
but, Parson, thar are n’t a boy in the city of Swams- 
cot what ’s got more manners than my Tony, and I 
cad convince you of that in just a minit. You see 
Tony out there skinnin’ them are fish ! 

Parson. Yes, I see him. 

Jones. Now, see, I’ll call. [Very loud'] Tony! 

Tony. [ Without , very loud] Sir ! 


208 


GRIT AS WELL AS MANNERS. 


Jones. Do n’t you hear that, Parson ? Do n’t you 
call that manners ? 

Parson. That is all very well, so far as it goes. 

Jones. What do you mean by cc so far as it goes ?” 
That boy, sir, always speaks respectfully to me when 
I call him. [Calling very loud ] Tony! 

Tony. [ Without , promptly and loud ] Sir ! 

Jones. [ After a pause] Tony ! 

Tony. [ Putting his head in] You miserable, black, 
old drunken snob ; I ’ll come there in two minutes 
and maul you like blazes ! 

Jones. You see, Parson, my boy has got grit as 
well as manners. That chap will be an ornament 
to your society one of these days. 

Parson. [Rising] Um, yes, — well, good day, 
Brother Jones. [Exit. 

Jones. Good day, Parson ; call agin. 

[Following Parson out. 

Curtain. 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


209 



, THE KING. 


From Mrs. Barbauld. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Alfred, King of England. Gandelin, his wife. 
Gubba, a farmer. Ella, an officer of Alfred. 


Scene I : — The Isle of Athelney. Enter Alfred. 

Alfred, How retired and quiet is every thing in 
this little spot! The river winds its silent waters 
round this retreat, and the tangled bushes of the 
thicket fence it from the attack of an enemy. The 
bloody Danes have not yet pierced into this wild 
solitude. I believe I am safe from their pursuit. 
But I hope I shall find some inhabitants here, other- 
wise I shall die of hunger. Ha ! here is a narrow 
path [ examining the ground closely'] through the 
wood ; and I think I see the smoke of a cottage 
rising between the trees. I will bend my steps 
thither. [Exit. 


S. T. 18. 


210 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


Scene II: — The same. The inside of a farmer's cot- 
tage; Gandelin in the background , cooking cakes 
by a fire ; a deal table and a few rough chairs fur- 
nish the room. Enter Gubba, with an ax on his 
shoulder , and Alfred. 

Gubba. Wife, I am very weary; I have been 
chopping wood all day. 

Gandelin. You are always ready for your supper, 
but it is not ready for you, I assure you ; the cakes 
will take an hour to bake, and the sun is yet high ; 
it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. But who 
have you with you, I trow? 

Alfred. Good mother, I am a stranger, and en- 
treat you to afford me food and shelter. 

Gandelin. Good mother, indeed ! Good wife, if you 
please, and welcome. But I do not love strangers; 
and the land has no reason to love them. It has 
never been a merry day for old England since 
strangers came into it. 

Alfred. I am not a stranger in England, though I 
am a stranger here. I am a true-born English- 
man. 

Gubba. And do you hate those wicked Danes, 
that eat us up, and burn our houses, and drive away 
our cattle ? 

Alfred. I do hate them. 

Gandelin. Heartily? He does not speak heartily, 
husband. 

Alfred. Heartily, I hate them ; — most heartily. 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


211 


Gubba. Give me thy hand, then; thou art an 
honest fellow. 

Alfred. I was with King Alfred in the last battle 
he fought. 

Gandelin. With King Alfred? Heaven bless him ! 

Gubba. What is become of our good King? 

Alfred. Did you love him, then ? 

Gubba. Yes, as much as a poor man may love a 
king; and knelt down and prayed for him every 
night, that he might conquer those Danish wolves ; 
but it was not to be so. 

Alfred. You could not love Alfred better than I 
did. 

Gubba. But what is become of him ? 

Alfred. He is thought to be dead. 

Gubba. Well, these are sad times ; Heaven help 
us ! Come, you shall be welcome to share the brown 
loaf with us ; I suppose you are too sharp-set to be 
nice. 

Gandelin. Ay, come with us; you shall be as 
welcome as a prince ! But hark ye, husband ; [draw- 
ing Gubba aside~\ though I am very willing to be 
charitable to this stranger, yet there is no reason 
he should not do something to maintain himself ; he 
looks strong and capable. 

Gubba. Why, that’s true. [To Alfred] What 
can you do, friend? 

Alfred. I am very willing to help you at any 
thing you choose to set me about. It will please me 
best to earn my bread before I eat it. 


212 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


Gubba. Let me see. Can you tie up faggots 
neatly ? 

Alfred. I have not been used to it. I am afraid I 
should be awkward. 

Gubba. Can you thatch ? There is a piece blown 
off the cow-house. 

Alfred. Alas ! I can not thatch. 

Gandelin. Ask him if he can weave rushes ; we 
want some new baskets. 

Alfred. I have never learned. 

Gubba. Can you stack hay ? 

Alfred. No. 

Gubba. Why, here ’s a fellow ! and yet he hath as 
many pair of hands as his neighbors. Dame, can 
you employ him in the house? He might lay wood 
on the fire and rub the table. 

Gandelin. [ Pointing to the hearth ] Let him watch 
these cakes, then ; I must go and milk the kine. 

Gubba. And I ’ll go and stack the wood, since 
supper is not ready. 

Gandelin. But pray observe, friend, do not let 
the cakes burn ; turn them often on the hearth. 

Alfred. I shall observe your directions. [Exit 
Gubba and Gandelin] For myself I could bear it, 
but England, my bleeding country, for thee my 
heart is wrung with bitter anguish ! From the 
Humber to the Thames the rivers are stained with 
blood — my brave soldiers cut to pieces ! My poor 
people — some massacred ; others driven from their 
warm homes, stripped, abused, insulted ; — and I, 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


213 


whom Heaven appointed their shepherd, unable to 
rescue my defenseless flock from the ravenous jaws 
of these devourers ! Gracious Heaven, if I am not 
worthy to save this land from the Danish sword, 
raise up some other hero to fight with more success 
than I have done, and let me spend my life in this 
obscure cottage, in these servile offices ! I shall he 
content if England be happy. Oh, here come my 
blunt host and hostess. 

[Enter Gubba, and Gandelin with a pail of milk on 
her head. 

Gandelin. Help me down with the pail, husband. 
[They set it on the table ; Gandelin places three cups 
near it and fills them'] This new milk, with the 
cakes, will make an excellent supper ; [gets the cakes , 
and sets them on the table] hut, mercy on us, how 
they are burnt ! black as my shoe ! They have not 
once been turned. [To Alfred] You oaf, you lub- 
ber, you lazy loon — 

Alfred. Indeed, dame, I am sorry for it; hut my 
mind was full of sad thoughts. 

Gubba. Come, wife, you must forgive him. [They 
all draw round the table and sit down] I remember 
when I was in love with thee — 

Gandelin. You remember? 

Gubba. Yes, dame, I do remember it, though it 
was many a long year since ; my mother was making 
a kettle of furmety — 

Gandelin. Pr’ythe, hold thy tongue, and let us 
eat our suppers. 


214 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


Gubba. Eat heartily, friend. Where shall we 
lodge him, Gandelin ? 

Gandelin. Wo have but one bed, you know; but 
there is fresh straw in the barn. 

Alfred. [. Aside ] If I shall not lodge like a king, 
at least I shall lodge like a soldier. Alas ! how 
many of my poor soldiers are stretched on the bare 
ground. [Noise heard without. 

Gandelin. What noise do I hear? It is the 
trampling of horses. Good husband, go and see 
what is the matter. [Gubba goes out. 

Alfred. Heaven forbid my misfortunes should 
bring destruction on this simple family ! I had 
rather have perished in the wood. 

[Enter Gubba , followed by Ella, with his sword drawn. 

Gandelin. Mercy, defend us, a sword ! 

[In consternation. 

Gubba. The Danes ! the Danes ! Oh, do not kill 
us ! 

Ella. [Kneeling to Alfred] My liege, my lord, 
my sovereign ! have I found you ? 

Alfred. [Raising Ella, and embracing hini] My 
brave Ella ! 

Ella. I bring you good news, my sovereign! 
Your troops, that were shut up in Kinwith Castle, 
made a desperate sally — the Danes were slaughtered. 
The fierce Hubba lies gasping upon the plain. 

Alfred. Is it possible ! Am I yet a king? 

Ella. Their famous standard, the Danish Raven, 
is taken ; their troops are panic-struck. The English 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


215 


soldiers call aloud for Alfred. Here is a letter which 
will inform you of more particulars. 

[ Giving Alfred a letter; lie opens it , and reads , 
retiring to the hack of the stage. 

Guhha. [ To Gandelin] What will become of 
us ? Ah ! dame, dame, that tongue of thine has 
undone us! 

Gandelin. Oh, my poor dear husband ! We shall 
both be hanged, that ’s certain. But who could have 
thought it was a king ? 

Guhha. Why, Gandelin, do you see, we might 
have guessed he was born to be a king, or some 
such great man, because, you know, he is fit for 
nothing else. 

[Gubba and Gandelin retire to one side. Alfred and 
Ella come forward. 

Alfred. God be praised for these tidings ! Hope 
has sprung up out of the depths of desjmir. Oh, 
my friend ! shall I again shine in arms — again fight 
at the head of my brave Englishmen, — lead them on 
to victory? Our friends shall now lift up their heads 
again. 

Ella. Yes, you have many friends, who have long 
been obliged, like their master, to skulk in deserts 
and caves, and wander from cottage to cottage. 
When they hear you are alive, and in arms again, 
they will leave their fastnesses, and flock to your 
standard. 

Alfred. I am impatient to meet them ; my people 
shall be revenged. 


216 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


[Gubba and Gandelin throw themselves at the feet of 
Alfred. 

Gubba. Oh, my lord — 

Gandelin. We hope your majesty will put us to 
a merciful death. Indeed, we did not know your 
majesty’s grace. 

Gubba. If your majesty could but pardon my 
wife’s tongue; she means no harm, poor woman, she 
means no harm. 

Alfred. Pardon you, good people ! I not only 
pardon you, but thank you. [Gubba and Gandelin 
rise ] You have afforded me protection in my dis- 
tress; and, if ever I am seated again on the throne 
of England, my first care shall be to reward your 
hospitality. I am now going to protect you. [Gubba 
and Gandelin retire respectfully up the stage~\ Come, 
my faithful Ella, to arms ! to arms ! My bosom 
burns to face once more the haughty Dane ; and 
here I vow to Heaven that I will never sheathe the 
sword against these robbers, till either I lose my life 
in this just cause, or — 

Till dove-like peace return to England’s shore, 

And war and slaughter vex the land no more. 


Curtain. 


ALFRED, THE KING. 


217 


COSTUMES. 

Alfred. — Tunic of linen or woolen descending to the knee, and 
having long close sleeves set in wrinkles or rolls from 
elbow to wrist; belt; short cloak; breeches; and hose; 
bands crossing one another sandal-wise on the ankle; 
(see engraving) long, fair hair falling in ringlets. 

Gubba. — Smock-frock of gray woolen; flesli-colored tights. He 
carries an ax and a bundle of faggots. 

Gandelin.— Long gown ; and for head-dress a long piece of 
linen wrapped around the head and neck; no ornaments. 
She must be provided with a milk pail. 

Ella. — Like Alfred, with the addition of a helmet, round shield, 
and broad-sword. 


PROPERTIES. 

Plain, rude furniture for the cottage ; an ax ; faggots ; milk 
pail ; cakes, or small loaves ; cups ; a sword. 


S. T. 19. 


218 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Little Snow White. 

Tiie Queen, her stepmother. 
Seven Dwarfs. 

Prince of Burgundy. 
Courtiers, Hunters, Qu 
Servj 


The Queen’s Marshal. 
The Prince’s Doctor. 
An Old Woman. 

Two Soldiers. 

;n’s Attendants, and 


Scene I : — A forest. At middle of stage , somewhat 
hack, a large hollow tree. Enter Two Servants, 
carrying a chair of state , which they set down in 
front of the tree. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


219 


lsf. Servant. It has pleased our noble Queen to 
celebrate her birthday in this forest, the most beau- 
tiful in the land. Here she has ordered us to place 
her chair. 

[Servants take places behind chair on each side. 
March music. Enter Queen and her retinue of 
courtiers and ladies. The Marshal shows the 
Queen to her chair; the attendants grouping 
around her, sing u God save the Queen.” Enter 
Little Snow White, bearing a wreath of flowers. 

Snow White. O royal mother, take this gift as a 
token of my love and duty. 

Queen. [Frowning] Have I not forbidden you 
to appear before my face in the presence of my 
courtiers ? 

Snow White. I know you have. Pardon me; — 
but I thought that I would be allowed to bring you 
my congratulations on your birthday. 

Queen. Away ! and never provoke my anger thus 
again. [. Exit Snow White sadly , her head bent down] 
Little Snow White becomes more disagreeable to me 
every day. 

Marshal. Grant your old counselor a friendly 
word. It seems to me that young Snow White 
shows, from day to day, more modesty and more 
gentleness. She resembles, in disposition, her mother, 
the late Queen. 

Queen. [To the ladies] The old gentlemen seem to 
take great interest in that pert little girl. Ho doubt, 
ladies, you find her very ugly and troublesome? 


220 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


A Lady. Ugly? Pardon me, your majesty, for 
saying we all find her exceedingly lovely and agree- 
able. 

Queen. Enough ; I am tired of your foolish talk. 
Let us go. [March music. The ladies and gentlemen 
march off the stage from left to right; the Queen rises, 
and the servants carry out her chair] Well, I am 
alone. Nobody is listening. Let me hear, now, my 
little magic mirror, what you have to say about me. 
[$/ie produces a small hand mirror] You always 
speak the truth. Come, tell me, who is the most 
beautiful person in my realm ? 

A Voice. \_Monotonously , behind the scene , supposed 
to proceed from the mirror] 

Thou wert the fairest, lady Queen ; 

Snow White is fairest now, I ween. 

Queen. [ With surprise] What do I hear? I have 
always been called the most beautiful lady in the 
world ; but now every one praises Little Snow 
White ; and even the magic mirror pronounces her 
fairest. When she grows a little taller, my courtiers 
will have eyes only for her, and my maids of honor 
will neglect me on her account. [A pause] It must 
not be ! I will have no rival. The girl shall die. 
I will see my faithful Karker, who is capable of any 
bloody deed. 

[Exit. Singing is heard in the distance ; one verse of 
any lively air. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


221 


Scene II : — The same. Enter Karker, armed with a 
long sword, leading Snow White by the hand. 

Snow White. Where are you leading me? I am 
so tired that I can not walk any farther. 

Karker. Our walk is ended. Kneel down, Prin- 
cess, for you must die. 

Snow White. Die? No, no ! What have I done ? 

Karker. That I can not tell. The Queen has 
ordered so. 

Snow White. The Queen ? And she promised my 
dying father to be a good mother to me. How have 
I offended her? 

Karker. No more questions ! I only know that 
you must die. [ Draws his sword. 

Snow White. Do not kill me, dear sir. I am yet 
so young, and I have harmed no one. 

Karker. It is the will of the Queen. I am her 
servant, and must obey. 

Snow White. Have you no child that you love? 

Karker. I have one little daughter, my only joy — 

Snow White. If the Queen should kill her? 

Karker. I would rather lose my own life. 

Snow White. Then, spare me, for the sake of 
your own child — my father and mother are dead. 

Karker. [. Hesitating ] I can not kill her. It is 
like killing my own little Karen ; they look so much 
alike. 

Snow White. Good sir, you will not, you can not 
kill a little girl ! 


222 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


Karker. [With emotion] No, child, the thought of 
my own little girl has saved your life. 

Snow White. Thank you, thank you, good man. 

Kcirker. But beware of the Queen. You must leave 
this country at once. Gro where nobody knows you, 
otherwise I shall lose my life. 

Snow White. I shall go where the Queen will not 
find me. 

Karker. [Going] The Queen demands of me 
Little Snow White’s eyes and tongue. I will give 
her instead those of a fawn which I just shot. 

[Exit. 

Snow White. [Seeing the tree] Ah ! there is a 
good hiding place. There, I will conceal myself 
until the Queen and train have left the forest. 
[Enters tree , and after a moment returns] Ah ! what 
have I seen ? The nicest room in the world ! Seven 
little chairs ; seven little beds ; seven pretty plates 
upon the table. The table is set for dinner, and 
nobody is at home. I am hungry; I wonder if the 
good people who live here will care if I sit down 
and eat a little? I believe I will make a venture 
anyhow. 

[Enters the tree. Music, — March, and some Hunting 
Chorus. The Queen’s attendants, singing, cross 
the stage from right to left; the Queen lingers 
behind them. 

Queen. Now, she is dead. Her bright eyes and 
her glib tongue will no longer lure the attention of 
my admirers. Karker has done his duty well. [$/ie 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


223 


takes out the mirror'] Now tell me, wonderful glass, 
who is most beautiful ? 

A Voice. [Supposed to proceed from mirror] 

Thou ivert the fairest, lady Queen. 

Snow White is fairest now, I ween. 

Amid the forest, darkly green, 

She lives with dwarfs — the hills between. 

Queen. [ Amazed , dropping the mirror] What? 
She is still living? Living with dwarfs in the for- 
est ? Could she have been restored to life ? Is Kar- 
ker false to me? [Pause] I must find her if she 
treads the earth. I know an old woman, a withered 
hag, cruel, crafty, capable of all evil. She will find 
out the dwarfs, and also the hateful Snow White. 

[Exit. 

Scene III: — The same. Snow White coming out of 
the tree. 

Snow White. The food was excellent, and the 
music of the chorus delightful. They are gone, 
now ; I am so glad, that I should like to sing, too, 
and take a walk in the forest. 

[Sings a few stanzas to any familiar tune. Exit. 
Enter the Seven Dwarfs; they march single file 
into the tree. 

First Dwarf. [Coming out] Who’s moved my 
chair ? 

Second Dwarf. [Coming out] Who ’s eaten from 
my plate ? 


224 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


Third Dwarf. [ Coming out ] Who’s used my 
knife ? 

Fourth Dwarf. [ Coming ouf] Who’s handled my 
fork ? 

Fifth Dwarf. [ Coming out ] Who ’s cut my bread ? 

Sixth Dwarf. [ Coming out'] Who ’s been drinking 
from my cup? 

Seventh Dwarf. [ Coming out] Who’s been eating 
of my meat ? 

[Singing in the distance ; Dwarfs listen. Enter Snow 
White. 

Snow White. Who are you? 

First Dwarf. We are the lords of this mountain, 
and of this house. 

Snow White. Oh, do not send me away. 

Second Dwarf. How did you get here ? 

Third Dwarf. What do you want here ? 

Fourth Dwarf. Who showed you our house? 
Come, tell us. 

Snow White. Have patience, gentlemen ; I shall 
tell you all. I am a king’s daughter, and have been 
brought up a princess. My mother died when I was 
very young, and my father, after marrying a second 
wife, died also. Since his death I have been treated 
very cruelly. 

Dwarfs. Poor girl ! 

Snow White. My stepmother, the present Queen, 
sent a murderer with me to the forest to take away 
my life. But he showed more mercy toward me 
than the Queen. He allowed me to escape, and told 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


225 


me to leave the kingdom. As the Queen and her 
attendants were hunting in the forest, I took this 
hollow tree for my hiding place. 

Fifth Dwarf. You shall stay with us. 

Sixth Dwarf. You shall eat and drink at our 
table. 

Seventh Dwarf. \Ye shall provide a little bed for 
you. 

Dwarfs. You shall be our little child. 

[Exeunt into tree. 

Scene IY : — The same. Enter Old Woman, with a 
basket of notions. 

Old Woman. Here is the place where the Dwarfs 
dwell. Let me see whether any one is at home. 

[Knocks at tree. 

Snow White. [Coming ouf\ Ah ! some one from 
the city. A peddler, I should think. 

Old W. [. Aside ] It is she. How do you do, lit- 
tle maiden? Won’t you buy something pretty from 
me, to-day? Look here, what beautiful things I 
have to sell. [Showing notions ] Here are gloves for 
your little hands; ribbons for your hair; and such 
a beautiful belt for your waist. 

Snow White. They are very pretty. I should 
like to have that beautiful belt, but I ’m afraid it is 
too dear; and I have no money at all. 

Old W. Never mind the money, my sweet dar- 
ling; I ’ll give it to you. You may pay for it another 


226 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


time. Let me see how it becomes you. [ Putting the 
belt around her] Lear, dear, what a pretty waist 
you have. 

Snow White. Oh, you hurt me ! Lo not draw it 
so tight ! 

Old W. [ Tightening the belt] He! he! he ! a 
snug fit ! a very snug fit ! 

Snow White. Oh ! dear ! I shall faint. O — h ! 

[Falls insensible. 

Old W. A beautiful fit. He ! he ! he ! The Queen 
will reward me well for this. 

[Exit. Enter Dwarfs. 

First Dwarf. Where is our little daughter ? Has 
she left us so very soon ? 

Second Dwarf. Brother, here she lies ! She sleeps. 

Third Dwarf. [Bending over her] Alas ! she is 
dying ! 

Fourth Dwarf. Undo her belt. She seems to 
breathe. [They remove the belt. 

Fifth Dwarf. She lives ! She opens her eyes ! 

[He lifts her up. 

All. She lives ! She lives ! 

Snow White. Where am I ? I hardly know you. 
Oh ! it was a frightful dream. 

Sixth Dwarf. Happily, we were just in time to 
save her. 

Seventh Dwarf. Tell us, my child, who has done 
this ? 

Snow White. An old woman. May heaven for- 
give her for it. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


227 


First Dwarf. When we are away, be sure to stay 
at home. Do not let any stranger in during our 
absence. [ Exeunt into tree. 

Scene Y : — The same. Enter from the tree Snow 
White, with some knitting-work. 

Snow White. How kind they are to me, and how 
glad they will be when they return and find I have 
finished their nice red caps. 

[She sings. Enter Old Woman, disguised , with a 
basket of apples in her hand. 

Old W. What? Then, she is not dead! The 
Queen was right! [ Changing her voice ] Can’t you 
tell me, pretty girl, how far it is to the town? I 
have already come a long distance, and the way 
seems longer the older we grow, and I have a heavy 
load to carry. 

Snow White. Poor woman, I pity you. It will 
take you about an hour to reach the city. Pray 
sit down and rest awhile. 

Old W. No, thank you. Won’t you try one of my 
apples? [Gives her one. 

Snow White. Thank you, good woman. You are 
very kind. 

Old W. [Aside, as she hobbles off] It will be the 
last apple she ever eats. Good-bye, miss. 

Snow White. Good-bye, aunty. [Exit Old W. 
Snow White sings another verse'] Singing makes 
one thirsty, and the apple here seems to be very 


228 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


juicy. [Eats] Ah! What ails me? I am deadly 
sick. Every thing seems to whirl round and round. 
Oh, dear ! Help, somebody, help ! 

[Sinks to the ground. Enter the Dwarfs. 

First Dwarf. What is this ? Little Snow White 
fainted again? 

Second Dwarf. How pale she is ! 

Third Dwarf. Feel her pulse. 

Fourth Dwarf. [Feeling her pulse] She is dead, I 
fear. 

All Dead ? 

Fifth Dwarf. Let us carry her away, and mourn 
for her as she deserves. 

[Music. Funeral march. Dwarfs bear Snow White 
out. 

Scene YI: — The same. Enter Old Woman, in some 
haste. 

Old W. He ! he ! he ! It never rains but it 
pours ! The Queen is coming this way to look for 
a little mirror which she lost. She has already re- 
warded me of her own will, and now she shall 
reward me again, whether she will or not. This 
purse [holding up a well-filled purse] is rich, but not 
one-tenth so precious as the jewels which her ma- 
jesty wears to-day. If she leaves this forest alive, 
it will be old Margery’s fault. I have a present for 
her, a poisoned necklace, that works certain death 
upon the wearer. He ! he ! he ! 

[Exit. Enter Queen excitedly. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


229 


Queen. I have risked the perils of the forest 
alone, in order to seek the magic mirror which I 
have somewhere lost. I could trust none but my- 
self on such an errand. I must have dropped it 
near this spot. Thank heaven it is here ! How for- 
tunate ! [ Taking it up\ How we shall see whether 

the old woman spoke truth — 

Oh, mirror ! mirror ! tell me true, 

Who now is fairest ? answer ; who ? 

A Voice. Thou art the fairest, lady Queen, 

The fairest in the world, I ween 

Queen. Thanks ! faithful mirror. [Kissing it. 
Enter Old Woman] Who comes here? 

Old W. [Bowing very low ] Oh, kind and beauti- 
ful Queen ! If your grace will only condescend to 
grant a favor to one already so much beholden to 
you— 

Queen. Speak plain, good woman. What is your 
request ? 

Old W. That you will accept of your humble 
subject this necklace. Although not wrought of 
jewels of great value, it has its own worth, since it 
has the miraculous power to make the wearer 
immortal. 

Queen. [Putting the necklace on. Aside\ How I 
shall live forever, and be forever beautiful. But to 
conceal my guilt, I have already ordered that this 
old woman shall die. My officers shall seize her 
within an hour, and then the secret will be my own. 


230 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


[To Old Woman] Thanks, good old lady, — now 
you may go. 

Old W. Long live your majesty. [. Making a low 
courtesy . Aside ] Before she takes as many steps as 
there are jewels in that chain, she will indeed he 
immortal. [Exit. Enter two soldiers. 

Queen. Even now the base murderess whom you 
seek passed this spot. Yonder she hobbles away. 
Arrest her, convey her hence, and let her he ex- 
ecuted without delay. [Exit soldiers ] And now, 
once more, let me hear the sweet voice of my truth- 
ful mirror. [ Takes out mirror ] What strange numb- 
ness comes over me. Faithful mirror, tell me again, 
who is fairest? 

A Voice. Thou art the fairest, noble Queen, 

But Snow White soon shall be, I ween. 

Queen. Thou lying glass ! [Caste it away in rage. 
Thunder is heard ] Ah, me, what dreadful judgment 
has overtaken me ? I burn, I freeze, I am in agony. 
[Enter soldiers , with Old Woman between them ] Tell 
me, thou wicked woman, what awful thing has be- 
fallen me? 

Old W. He ! he ! he ! old Margery is not the 
only wicked woman. The Queen’s crimes shall be 
punished as well as mine. The necklace I gave 
you is poisoned. 

[Queen shrieks , throws up her hands , and staggers 
out ; the soldiers follow , dragging the Old Woman 
along. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


231 


Scene YII: — The same. Music , a funeral march. 
Enter the Seven Dwarfs, bearing a bier , upon 
which lies Snow White adorned with flowers. 
They set their burden down ; bugles are heard in 
the distance. 

First Dwarf. Did you hear the sound of bugles ? 
Little Snow White does not hear them any more. 

Second Dwarf. See, the hunters are coming this 
way. [ Enter Prince, accompanied by Hunters. 

Prince. What are you doing here? 

Third Dwarf. We are honest men. This is our 
dominion. 

Prince. [. Approaching the bier ] How beautiful ! 
Why is she sleeping here? 

Dwarfs. She is dead ! 

Prince. It can not be so. Her cheeks are still 
red. 

Fourth Dwarf. She was a king’s daughter. 

Fifth Dwarf. She took refuge with us to escape 
her wicked stepmother. 

Prince. She is not dead ! Let my doctor be 
called. 

Dwarfs. Alas, Snow White is dead ! 

[Enter Doctor; he holds a vial to her nostrils , and 
feels her pulse. 

Doctor. Her pulse beats faintly. She is coming 
to life. 

Prince. Thank heaven, thank heaven ! 

Dwarfs. Thank heaven ! 


232 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


Snow White. [. Arising slowly'] Where am I? What 
has happened? Have I been sick? Where is the 
woman that gave me the apple ? Who are you ? 

[To Prince. 

Prince. I am the Prince of Burgundy. My 
country is not far from here ; I will take you with 
me there, and, if you promise to be my wife, you 
shall 'wear the crown as Queen. 

Snow White. You rescued me from death, and 
you have a right to my hand. 

\ Gives her hand to Prince, who assists her from the bier. 

Prince. How happy I am. All the people of my 
little kingdom shall be invited to our wedding, and 
your noble benefactors here [ pointing to Dwarfs] 
shall have the best seats at our banquet. Come, let 
us away! 

[ Wedding March , from Mendelssohn's Midsummer 
Night's Dream. Exeunt. 

Curtain. 

COSTUMES. 

Little Snow White. — Pure white muslin dress, very simply 
trimmed; flowing hair. 

Tiie Queen. — Showy dress, with long trail, and adorned with 
lace and glittering jewels; crown. 

Marshal. — Ordinary trowsers; military jacket, with broad 
sash about the waist; short cloak; long boots, with spurs; 
hat, with feathers ; long sword ; fierce mustache. 

Prince. — Tight-fitting suit of green, richly ornamented with 
gold; gay plume. 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


233 


Doctor. — Fantastic, parti-colored dress; peaked hat; long 
shoes, with pointed toes ; long walking stick ; large green 
goggles; a medicine bottle sticking from each pocket. 

Dwarfs. — Dark sack coats, without buttons ; large caps, with 
flap hanging down upon the shoulders, as in the picture on 
page 218. 

Old Woman. — Gray cloak and hood; a crooked stick; basket. 
The costume must be altered in Scene V. for the purpose 
of disguise. 

Hunters. — Like Prince, but not so ornamental. 

Soldiers. — Imitation steel armor; helmet; sword. 

Courtiers and Ladies. — Fancy party dress. 


PROPERTIES. 

A chair of state ; a hand mirror ; a wreath ; a long sword ; a 
basket of notions, including a belt, gloves, fan, etc.; some knit- 
ting work; a basket of apples; a necklace; a bier; a vial; 
flowers; a bugle; accouterments for soldiers and hunters, such 
as helmets, swords, spears, shields, and bows. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

This piece requires a painted scene at the back of the stage, 
representing a large tree in the center, with a thick wood in 
perspective. An opening is to be left in the scenery, represent- 
ing the hollow in the tree, and communicating with an entrance 
and exit passage at the rear. The stage business is some- 
what complicated, and should be rehearsed many times. Some 
ingenuity and tact will be needed in contriving the costumes 
and properties, upon the perfection of which very much depends. 
The Queen’s crown may be made of pasteboard, covered with 
gilt paper. The bier consists of a board, in the form of a long, 
narrow table, with short legs ; it should be draped with black, 
and may be borne by four of the Dwarfs. The thunder de- 
s. t. 20 . 


234 


LITTLE SNOW WHITE. 


manded in the Sixth Scene can be produced by rattling a large 
piece of sheet-iron behind the scenes, or by rolling a cannon 
ball across the floor, or by skillfully beating a bass drum. 
The words, supposed to proceed from the mirror, may be read 
by the prompter behind the scene. 

Whenever many actors are on the stage at one time, the 
manager should assign a definite position and attitude to each, 
in order to produce the best spectacular effect. It is impossible 
to make this play a success, without a strict application of the 
rules for actors given in the Introduction. 


















































































































































































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Brown's Physiology and Hygiene. 

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A Manual of Physiology and Hygiene. By 

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12mo, cloth, tinted paper. Illustrated. 288 pp. 

Many text-books on the science of Physiology and Hygiene 
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AN EXCELLENT TEXT-BOOK FOR SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES s 

GOOD MORALS and GENTLE MANNERS; 

By ALEX. M. GOW, M.D. 

12mo, Cloth, 252 pp. 


TABLE OIF 1 COLTTEXTS: 


PART I.-MORAL LAW. 

CHAPTER 

1. Good Society. 

2. Habits. 

3. Law. 

4. The Moral Law. 

5. Duties to God, from the 

Scriptures. 

6. Duties to Man, from the 

Scriptures. 

7. Homicide. 

8. Hatred. 

9. Courage. 

10. Chastity. 

11 and 12. Veracity. 

13. Evidence. 

14. Temperance. 

15 to 17. Right of Property. 

18. Covetousness. 

19. Filial Obedience. 

20. Business. 

21. Fidelity. 

22. Amusements. 

23. The Poor. 

24. Humanity. 

25. Wisdom. 


PART II -MUNICIPAL LAW. 

CHAPTER 

26. Patriotism. 

27 and 28. Duties of Citizen- 
ship. 

29. Education. 

30. The Law of the School. 

PART III-SOCIAL LAW, OR PO- 
LITENESS. 

CHAPTER 

31. Cleanliness. 

32 and 33. Dress. 

34. The Educated Countenance. 

35. The Cultivated Voice. 

36. Conversation. 

37. Behavior on the Street. 

38. Behavior in Church. 

39. Behavior in the Concert or 

Lecture Room. 

40. Gallantry. 

41. Hints for Visiting. 

42. Behavior at the Table. 

43. Behavior in Traveling. 

44. Miscellaneous Suggestions. 
INDEX. 


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